


Out of Your League

by iwanttowriteyouafic



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Bottom Zayn, M/M, Top Liam, and the ending is a bit rushed, liam stands his ground, side Louis/Harry, sorry about that, then he gives in, then he makes zayn give in, this is very much not editted, zayn is emotionally constipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwanttowriteyouafic/pseuds/iwanttowriteyouafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wandered aimlessly down the aisles, trying to remember if there was anything he had forgotten to grab, and then he caught a glimpse of soft brown hair and faint stubble. The guy from the coffee shop and the club was standing at the end of the aisle, apparently trying to decide between two different types of biscuits. He looked up suddenly, sensing someone watching, and Zayn almost ran into a shelf of crisps in his haste to get out of there."</p><p> </p><p>(Or the one where Zayn is a slightly pretentious Art student who has people falling for him left right and centre, until gorgeous Music student Liam Payne walks into his life and refuses to bow down.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Your League

**Author's Note:**

> This took a ridiculously long time for me to write - sorry about that! 
> 
> [For the anonymous prompt: “Ok here’s a prompt if you’re up for it: uni student and art hoe Zayn Malik is used to ppl falling at his feet and showering him with things, until he meets Liam Payne a music major who realised what a dork Zayn really is. Zayn doesn’t want to like him but feels himself falling for Liam’s charms anyway. (Can you make it bottom Zayn if there’s smut? Thanks)]
> 
> *** PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS ON OTHER SITES WITHOUT GETTING MY PERMISSION FIRST. Do not post copies of my work on livejournal, wattpad, fanfiction.net or anywhere, even if you have the intention of giving me credit. I do not want them on those sites at this point in time. So far, I have only given permission for my fic 'Pride' to be translated into Russian and posted on a Russian fanfiction website. Any other copies of my work that I come across will be reported. Please don't do it. It really sucks that I have to even write this note. ***

Zayn Malik lived the good life. In his third year of uni, he had teachers wrapped around his fingers, was acing all his classes, was often asked to present his work in the local art gallery, and, best of all, had people throwing themselves at him left right and centre. 

He used to find it annoying. Then Anthony Riarch bought him a bottle of incredibly expensive wine back when they were first years, and suddenly it all became a lot more interesting. There seemed to be some sort of competition to woo him, to be the first person to score Zayn for more than a night. It wasn’t exactly the reputation Zayn was looking for when he moved there, but he can hardly complain when he hasn’t bought a single drink for himself in years.

“Hi, what can I get you?” the guy behind the counter asked. He was shorter than Zayn with dark hair and wide, blue eyes that we batting at him coyly. 

Zayn smirked back easily, watching as the boy blushed. “Just a caramel latte, thanks.”

“Three-fifty,” the said. 

Zayn changed his expression to something between coy and apologetic. He looked down at the boy’s name tag, reading ‘Cameron’ in bold black writing. “Cameron,” he said lowly, licking his lips. “I’m really sorry to do this to you, but-”

“You forgot your money?” another voice asked. Zayn looked to his left, finding a man slightly taller than him stirring sugar into a drink that was just passed to him.

Zayn didn’t like the flat tone of his voice. “Yeah,” he answered after a moment. “Want to help me out, babe?”

The man turned to him, chocolate eyes unimpressed. “I can see your wallet from here.”

Zayn fought very hard not to look down at his bulging jean pocket. “I don’t have any cash.”

“They take cards.”

“It’s not a problem, really,” the cashier assured them. “I got tipped a tenner earlier, so I can shout you.”

“Thank you so much,” Zayn said, smiling widely. Cameron flushed a deep red from the attention. The man next to Zayn snorted. 

“Class act,” the man muttered into his drink, dropping some coins into the tip jar on his way out. Zayn sneered at his back. 

While Zayn waited for his drink to finish, Cameron attempted some small talk – or, rather, he asked Zayn a bunch of questions and didn’t seem to put off by the fact that Zayn didn’t ask to know anything about him. Zayn explained he was an art major and had exhibitions every few months, he lived on campus in his own room, and no, he wasn’t seeing anyone.

“In that case, I think I’ll dive into the deep end,” Cameron said. He took a deep breath. “Do you want to go out some time?”

“What do you have in mind?” Zayn asked, leaning against the counter while a finger idly circled the polished wood. He saw Cameron tracking his movements, swallowing thickly. 

“My friend has a gig tonight at the pub,” the cashier said quickly. “We could go there, maybe dance a bit?”

Zayn pretended to consider this. He already knew his answer the moment Cameron said ‘pub’. “I’m really sorry, babe, but I’m busy tonight,” Zayn sighed. “Maybe another time.”

Drink now in hand, he moved away from the counter. Cameron made an odd noise. “Can I get your number?”

“Was waiting for you to ask,” Zayn grinned. The boy blushed again, passing over a sticky note for Zayn to write a number on. It wasn’t his number, but the boy didn’t need to know that just yet. “There you go,” he said, making sure to let his fingers linger when he passed the pen back over. 

Zayn used to feel bad about all this – but in his defence, he wasn’t obligated to put out. It was their choice to give him free drinks, free food, concert tickets, just like it was Zayn’s choice to not take things further unless he was feeling particularly horny. 

Zayn almost dropped his drink when his phone started buzzing madly. He fished it out of his pocket, scowling, until he saw who was calling. “Louis,” he greeted suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“For once, I would like to call my best friend and not be questioned about it,” Louis huffed down the line. It sounded like he was walking hurriedly, the sound of people shouting at him angrily clearly audible.

“Harry’s your best friend,” Zayn pointed out. “And if you don’t want to be questioned, maybe you should do less questionable things.”

“You’re being rude, Malik.”

“Why’d you call?” Zayn asked impatiently. He really wanted a cigarette, and Louis’s call was holding him up. 

Louis sighed like he wanted to snap something else but thought better of it. “I want to go out tonight.”

Zayn groaned. “No way.”

“Please?” Louis begged. “Today’s been shit with class work and I just want to let loose for a bit.”

“Go out with Harry, then,” Zayn told him. He turned onto the main street, holding his coffee close to try and fight off the cold.

Louis made a vague noise. “He’s busy.”

“Then go out with Niall,” Zayn said.

“I want you to come, though,” Louis said. There was a pause. Then: “We get all our drinks on the house when you’re there.”

“So you want to exploit my generosity?”

“Well, you’re already exploiting everyone else’s, so…”

Zayn laughed at that. Louis never judged him on it, always managed to see the good side of it like Zayn. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “But we can’t go to the pub.”

“I wanted to go clubbing, anyway,” Louis grinned down the phone.

*

There were a lot of up-sides to the club they go to. 

Firstly, it was close enough to the uni that everyone was approximately Zayn’s age, but far enough away that the people who come there have to paid to get there, and are thus there to have a good time. This means that Zayn can safely avoid the predators, drop-kicks, and depressing people without even trying to. 

Secondly, as Louis had said, drinks were free when Zayn could bat his eyes and promise cute guys dances in exchange for chivalry. He wasn’t much of a drinker, though, so the moment a good song came on, he’d push the drink into Louis’ waiting hand and drag whoever had paid for it onto the dancefloor. He never danced for more than a few songs, until Louis was cutting in with one excuse or another to repeat the process again. It was a game they had been playing for years, one which they were quite good at now that Zayn knew what to say so that the men he was with didn’t try and follow him around all night.

And, thirdly, the music was great. Fantastic, even. The type of music that pulsed through everybody in the building, shuddered through the floorboards and had the club shaking with adrenaline. Louis would stay close to his side, watching Zayn’s signals as people came up to dance with him. A hand on the person’s shoulder meant he was fine. Rubbing the back of his own neck meant he wanted Louis to come and save him. Hands around the person’s neck or ass to groin meant that Louis should go very, very far away and do his own thing, or else will end up seeing one of his best mates practically hump someone on the dancefloor. 

Sometimes they just dance together, though, and make it clear they don’t want to be interrupted. Louis plays the perfect fake boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s waist while Zayn dances beneath his hands. The two of them laugh into each other’s necks, knowing there’s no intention behind the sexual movement. And it’s perfect, until someone tries to break it up. Like now, for instance: him and Louis are dancing together ridiculously, bumping along with the music, until someone knocks into Louis and effectively separates him from Zayn.

“Sorry, mate!” he hears the bloke shout over the music. Zayn immediately scowls, ready to rip into the guy for not respecting their personal space, when the guy turns around and it becomes clear that there was really no intention to break them up. It was the guy from the coffee shop. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Zayn groaned, voice nearly lost in the thump of the Drake remix. 

The boy turned to him, looking equally as affronted. Unlike Zayn, he didn’t make a snide comment. “Sorry,” he repeated before he was walking further into the crowd. 

Louis shrugged and went to go back to dancing, but Zayn wasn’t in the mood anymore. “Need a drink,” he shouted so Louis could hear him. Louis nodded in understanding, and turned to dance with the closest person to him.

Zayn pushed through the throng of dancing bodies, ignoring the interested looks he received. He wasn’t conceited enough to think all eyes were on him, but he wasn’t naïve, either. 

He arrived at the bar, and simply pointed to a glowing blue drink he could see a little way down the counter. He didn’t know what it was, but hoped it had a fuck tonne of alcohol. He fished out a couple of tanners from his pocket (which he always bought, because there are obviously times when people, you know, aren’t cuing up for his attention), and tried to pay but there was suddenly a hand grabbing his wrist.

“I’ve got it, cutie,” the man said with a coy smile and glassy eyes. Zayn could smell the alcohol on his breath so pungently that it was like a physical presence smacking him into the face. He recoiled from the too-close man, pulling out of his grip.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Zayn said, and paid for it himself.

“C’mon, darling,” the man drawled. “Someone with a face like yours shouldn’t have to pay for his own drink.”

Zayn sneered as the man crept closer to him. “Someone with a face like mine isn’t going to go home with you, no matter how many drinks you try to buy me.”

“Excuse me?” the man said, face contorting in both surprise and outrage. He took a step closer, grabbing Zayn’s wrist again. “Listen here you little bitch-”

“That’s enough,” a deep voice said, pulling the man away from Zayn. Zayn almost rolled his eyes when he saw it was the coffee shop guy again. 

“You going to go home with him, then?” the seedy man asked Zayn, nodding to Liam. “Going to fuck your knight in shining armour, like a nice, easy whore?”

“Fuck off, asshole,” Zayn retorted, rolling his eyes. He grabbed his drink when the bartender offered it, sipping casually while the man fumed and walked off. 

The guy from the coffee shop hailed down the bartender, completely ignoring Zayn. “Rum and coke, thank you.”

He was dressed nicely, with dark jeans and a button-down plait shirt that was rolled up and accentuated his thick arms. His hair was relatively short but styled nicely, and looked soft despite the product. He had nice eyes, too, and a wonderful mouth. He was definitely Zayn’s type, and definitely someone he’d consider going home with. But his jaw was set in annoyance at Zayn’s presence, and it made something sour curl in Zayn’s bloodstream. 

Zayn watched him for a moment, not sure what was protocol here. On one hand, this dude almost cost him a coffee this morning (something which Zayn did not take lightly), and thus deserved to be ignored. On the other hand, the guy just physically removed a geezer off of him, and deserved at least a thank you. Zayn decided to go with the latter, figuring that he was horny and this guy looked like he knew his way in a bedroom.

“Thanks,” Zayn said, leaning in close so he could be heard over the music. The boy’s dark eyes flickered to him for a moment before looking away, disinterested. “For, like, helping me,” Zayn tried again.

“No one deserves to feel uncomfortable like that,” the guy said, shrugging. “Even you.”

Zayn’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” the boy said, a wry smile on his face when he finally looked at Zayn. “That’s how it works, right? You get to hear what you want to hear?”

Zayn didn’t know how to respond in any way other than to defend himself. “Way to judge a book by its cover, mate.”

“So what happened, then?” the guy asked when his drink was handed to him. Zayn wondered if he was drunk, but he seemed pretty sober. “Did you take down the boy’s number and then throw it in the trash? Give a fake number? Make up some excuse, like your phone was broken or something?” 

Zayn didn’t want to admit he had done one of those things, so instead he side-tracked. “So it’s my fault he wanted to buy me a drink?”

“No, it’s your fault that he felt obligated to do it,” the guy said. He took a long sip. “And your fault for leading him on.”

“Leading him on?” Zayn asked, incredulous. It was a common critique that had been thrown in his face, but sounded all the more hostile coming from this boy. “When people put themselves out there, they have to be prepared to hear no. It’s not my fault if that kid wasn’t prepared.”

“But you didn’t say no, did you?” the guy asked. 

Zayn didn’t answer.

“Exactly,” the guy powered on, once again not looking at Zayn. “Come up with a better excuse and then come find me.”

Zayn was left, gobsmacked, when the guy walked away. He stood alone at the bar, just watching the spot where the guy had been. And for once, when Louis asked him to swindle a drink, he shook his head in disgust and asked Louis to take him home.

*

“Which milk did you want again?” Zayn asked when Harry finally picked up. 

“Lactose free,” Harry said quickly. He sounded out of breath. Considering Louis didn’t answer his phone, either, Zayn was able to make a pretty educated guess about why he was breathing so hard. 

“You’re not lactose intolerant,” Zayn said incredulously, ignoring the giggle in the background.

Zayn busied himself with looking over the different types of milk when Harry took a moment to answer, grabbing himself a cheap one that he thinks might be the one that actually froth in the coffee machine. “It tastes nice,” Harry said finally, voice cracking on the last word. “J-just get it for me, please?”

“Tell Louis to be more subtle,” Zayn said before hanging up. He begrudgingly grabbed one of the lactose free cartons, wincing at how much more expensive it was than the rest of types he could have bought. 

(That was the thing: Zayn may have drinks bought from him, and go on expensive dates and wear expensive jewellery, but almost all of it were presents from people. His tattoos were the results of birthday and Christmas money from his parents, his better clothes were mostly gifts from friends and extended family, and his school fees and dorm were a part of his scholarship. The commissions he did for galleries paid off his necessities like food and text books and stuff, but it had been a few months since his last paycheck of royalties, and money was disappearing quickly. 

Still, he would begrudgingly pay the extra dollar for the god damn lactose free milk. No one needed to know what his bank account actually looked like.)

He wandered aimlessly down the aisles, trying to remember if there was anything he had forgotten to grab, and then he caught a glimpse of soft brown hair and faint stubble. The guy from the coffee shop and the club was standing at the end of the aisle, apparently trying to decide between two different types of biscuits. He looked up suddenly, sensing someone watching, and Zayn almost ran into a shelf of crisps in his haste to get out of there. 

He tried hiding three aisles down, surrounded by diapers and half-price tampons, but the guy found him quickly enough.

“Hey, wait!” he called out when Zayn tried to run off again. 

Zayn stopped, and instead awkwardly grabbed the closest thing to him and pretended to examine it.

“Hey,” the guy said, coming to a stop a few feet from Zayn. Zayn didn’t look at him. It was too early to be lectured again. He could see the guy frowning in his peripheral. “What do you need pads for?” he asked. 

Zayn hastily put the package back. “I don’t,” he said. 

The boy didn’t question it. Instead, he said: “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Zayn asked, looking up at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “For going off at you the other day. I was just in a bad mood. Sorry.”

Zayn blinked up at him, dumbfounded. “Alright,” Zayn said slowly. His eyes raked over Liam’s earnest small and placating posture, and got the feeling that the boy was expecting him to roast him or something. He shrugged nonchalantly, hoping the guy would relax. 

“I’m Liam, by the way,” the boy said, holding out a golden hand for Zayn to shake. Zayn accepted it, still confused by the change in attitude. 

“’m Zayn,” Zayn introduced. “And, um. Yeah.”

He’d never been so tongue-tied in front of someone. Liam was just confusing, Zayn supposes. He was getting emotional whiplash from the guy.

Liam ran a hand through his short hair, looking nervous. “And for the record, you’re not obligated to go on dates with every person who asks. I’m sorry for suggesting otherwise.”

“You apologise a lot, Liam,” Zayn observed. 

Liam shrugged. “I have a lot to apologise for.”

Zayn didn’t think he did, not really, but he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and then started walking off to pay for his groceries. He found he wasn’t that surprised when Liam followed him.

“Can I buy you a coffee?” Liam asked. Zayn was about to roll his eyes when Liam added: “Not for a date, but just so we’re even. Clear a guilty conscience and all that.”

Zayn found himself agreeing. In his defence, it was still only nine in the morning and he hadn’t had his usual cup of caffeinated sludge, so really he was just doing what he usually did and convincing nice boys to buy him things. The only difference was that Liam didn’t want anything in return. Zayn wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

They went to a different café than the one they were at three days ago. This second one was significantly cheaper, but had a greater assortment of drinks and plenty of plush armchairs to sit on while they drank. Zayn ordered a caramel latte like usual, and only asked for a small. Liam ordered himself a large chocolate Frappuccino with extra whipped cream, and took Zayn’s amused look as mild judgement and muttered ‘cheat day’ with a shrug.

They settled down on two armchairs towards the back, right next to a heater. Zayn peeled off his winter coat and folded his legs under himself, getting more comfortable. Liam looked at ease, using the straw to scoop clumps of cream into his mouth.

“So,” Liam said after a while, sucking a spot of cream off his thumb from where he’d wiped it off his chin. “What’s your favourite song?”

Zayn paused. “What?” 

“Default question,” Liam said, unembarrassed. “Everyone has a favourite song, so you always get an answer. What’s your favourite song?”

Who even was this guy? “Pretty much anything from The Weeknd’s new album,” Zayn said after a moment. “Except ‘Earnt It’. The stupid movie ruined it for me.”

“It got way too good of a sound track considering how stupid the entire plot was,” Liam agreed.

“Right?” Zayn said, leaning forward in enthusiasm. “What they need to do is make a completely different movie with that soundtrack, and bam! Best movie of the decade.” 

“Write about a toxic relationship still, but make it more obvious that it’s toxic instead of romanticising it, I reckon,” Liam said, stirring his drink vigorously. “Like make the main guy a psychopath, and the lead girl is completely oblivious to it until she’s in too deep, so then we she finally leaves the audience is crying and applauding her bravery, y’know?”

“I think you’re on to something, Liam,” Zayn told him. 

“That’s what I want to do when I’m older, actually,” Liam admitted. “Want to be a music director for movies. Choose the perfect songs for the iconic scenes, and all that.”

“That’d be cool,” Zayn said, nodding in approval. “Like being a part of that whole process without having to be on camera.”

Zayn may be testing Liam, now. He was giving Liam the opportunity to say ‘Well, you should be in front of the camera’, or ‘You could walk down the red carpet with me’, or something easily as cheesy. 

“I just like music too much,” Liam laughed self-depreciatively. 

Zayn didn’t know whether that was a pass or fail, to be honest.

“What about you?” Liam asked.

“An artist, I think,” Zayn shrugged. “I’m currently doing a double major in art and history, and I do commissions and stuff, so that’s probably where I’ll end up.”

Liam grinned at this. “What sort of art do you make?” 

Zayn took a while to answer. He took a long sip of his drink to waste time, determinedly looking Liam in the eye so the boy didn’t call him out on hiding something. “Just like, paintings and stuff.”

“Really?” Liam asked, cocking his head to the side. “Huh.”

“What?” Zayn asked. He meant for it to come out snappish, but instead it was just curious.

“I pegged you to be into like, pop art and stuff,” Liam said, shrugging. At Zayn’s confused look, he pointed to Zayn’s uncovered arm where a large ‘ZAP!’ tattoo could be seen. “But painting’s really cool, too,” Liam said quickly. “Does it take you long to finish pieces?”

“Depends on the piece,” Zayn answered hesitantly. This was the most detail he’d been asked about his work from someone other than one of his professors or some freshman interrogating him for some wisdom, or something. Not even Harry asks as much (but that’s probably because he’s around when Zayn’s in the middle of it, so his questions are all answered simply by observing).

“Same with music, then?” Liam asks. “I’ve sort of recently started writing music, right, and it’s like some songs kind of appear instantly and are done within an hour, but then other stuff I have to keep coming back to for weeks before I’m happy with it. And some I’m never happy with, but other people like them so, like, have to kind of just say ‘whatever’ and go with it.”

Liam had this way of talking, where he seemed to say everything that came to mind. He was excited by everything, like a puppy on a walk down a new street. Zayn almost expected him to start picking up random objects for Zayn to examine until he got distracted again. 

“Do you like the coffee here?” Liam asked, instantly side-tracked the moment he’d finished his spiel. “My friend Niall has been telling me to come here for ages.”

“Niall Horan?” Zayn asked, surprised. Liam nodded. “He’s one of my best mates. Lives next door to me.”

“Really?” Liam asked, impossibly more excited. “I’ve known him my whole life. Kissed him once, actually. He’s the reason I figured out I was bi so early. He was really encouraging about it, too, even though he’s fully straight.”

Zayn wondered if Liam only gave away that information in his excitement, or if he was really just that comfortable with telling almost-strangers about how he figured out his sexuality. 

“So did you guys meet when you moved in?” Liam asked. He was now sipping his drink almost non-stop like his mouth was dry. 

“Yeah,” Zayn said. He smiled down at his hands, remembering that day. “He kept trying to hit on my older sister, and she just handed over her phone, and he thought she wanted his number until he looked at her background and saw the picture of her and her fiancée snogging, and so he just shrugged and apologised and helped carry my stuff from the car. Doniya actually did give her number to him in the end, and now the two of them are, like, close friends. It’s weird.”

“He’s the same with my sisters,” Liam laughed. “He got invited to my oldest sister’s wedding before she even told me she was getting married.”

“Damn,” Zayn laughed. “At least he’s not like my friend Louis, who literally calls my mum every day. No exaggeration. They bitch about me and give each other sex tips.”

Liam snorted into his cup. His face scrunched up in laughter, eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. He had to put his drink down so that he could laugh into his hands, body shaking with it. 

“Oh god,” Liam gasped out, still laughing. “I can just imagine it. That must be hilarious.”

“It’s awful,” Zayn groaned. He couldn’t help but smile at the way Liam laughed, like his whole body had to experience the emotion. “A few months ago Louis tried to cook dinner and it was fucking disgusting, and so I ordered take-out. And Louis pulled out his phone and texted someone, and ten seconds later my mum was calling me and demanding to know how I managed to drown one of my really expensive textbooks in vodka the week earlier. I got lectured for twenty minutes because of that asshole.”

Liam looked like he was trying to supress his laughter but was utterly failing. “I wonder if I’ve met Louis before,” he said once he had managed to control himself. “Or if I’ve met you before, like at one of Niall’s parties or something.”

Niall, like the stereotypical Irishman he was, threw parties every few months which were legendary throughout campus. They were now invite-only since everyone wanted to come. His St Patrick’s Day bashes were organised in secret, because people kept trying to gate crash. It had gotten to the point where Niall would just text an address to twenty people or so an hour before they should be there. By midnight there would be at least a hundred people crammed in some basement or rented hall somewhere with a hundred more cuing up outside, dressed head-to-toe in green and chanting Niall’s name over the music thundering through the building. There wasn’t a doubt in Zayn’s mind that he and Liam had been at parties together before, but he was almost certain he had never seen Liam before that day in the coffee shop. 

“Probably crossed paths,” Zayn said, shrugging. “I would have remembered you if we’d properly met.”

Liam blushed at that and looked down at his almost empty cup. And, yeah, Zayn definitely would have remembered him – he’s not lying. Liam was a walking contradiction, with his intimidating body, chiselled jaw and glorious body hair intermingling with a round nose, expressive eyebrows and gentle posture. He was like a Doberman, maybe: boss as fuck until you realise that it could hold a raw egg in its mouth and not break it because his jaw was so gentle. 

That must be the weirdest fucking comparison Zayn had ever made. 

“You might have seen me, though,” Liam said after a moment when he could look Zayn in the eye again. “Niall asked me to DJ for him once a year or so ago when I started getting into mixing, and I’ve been in charge of music at his parties ever since. So.”

Zayn remembers the sort of music Niall has at his parties, the type that was universally liked by everyone there looking to have a good time. But he doesn’t think he’s ever looked to see who was controlling the music, and definitely can’t remember what that person might have looked like.

“I was probably too drunk to remember,” Zayn said. “You know how Niall is.”

“Wants everyone drunk and dancing,” Liam nodded, smiling in understanding. “He almost cried when he found out I couldn’t drink.”

Zayn very clearly remembers Liam drinking a rum and coke at the club. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Liam insisted. “I’ve got a bad kidney, had it since I was a kid. So I can only drink a little bit before I start feeling queasy.”

“That sucks,” Zayn said. He didn’t mean for it to sound so earnest. 

Liam just shrugged. Their drinks were both now finished, something they both seemed to realise at the same time. “Well, you’ve probably got stuff to do,” Liam said, standing up and holding out a hand for Zayn to shake again. “It was good running into you. To, like, apologise and stuff. You’re a good guy.”

If Zayn’s a good guy, he wonders what Liam is. Probably this generation’s Mother Teresa. “Thanks for the coffee, Liam.”

“No problems,” Liam said with a smile. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

And then Liam was leaving the shop, waving a goodbye to Zayn through the window and then disappearing out of sight. Zayn stood there, wondering why the fuck Liam hadn’t asked for his number. They’d had a good time, right? And Liam had said he was bisexual, and he’s blushed when Zayn complimented him, and they got along really well. 

It may, possibly, be the first time Zayn left a coffee date without having to turn down a second. 

*

Zayn arrived at the fancy Italian restaurant in polished shoes and a nice blazer. His hair was styled, an expensive looking (but fake) watch was glinting from his wrist, and he was more than ready to be wood for a night.

The man who was waiting for him stood up from the table when Zayn entered. He kissed Zayn on the cheek delicately, and pushed in Zayn’s seat when he sat down. Immediately, a waiter was pouring his a glass of red wine and calling him ‘sir’ despite the fact that Zayn was a fair bit younger than him.

“I’m glad you came,” Samuel said. He smiled confidently, relaxing back in his chair and probably thinking that Zayn was impressed.

Zayn was, to an extent. He hadn’t grown up with this sort of luxury, but he’d been to this restaurant before. Twice. “This place is nice.”

“It is,” Samuel agreed, fingers fiddling obviously with an expensive diamond earring. Zayn guessed it wasn’t fake. “How are you?”

“Good. You?” Zayn said. He frowned internally. This was a very standard starting conversation for a first date, and yet it felt incredibly robotic and fake.

“Splendid,” Samuel told him. Zayn felt like snorting at that – what fucking mid-twenties man said ‘splendid’? Who was this guy?

Zayn soon found out who the guy was. He’s the guy that orders the meal for you without asking what your preference is. He’s the guy that answers shallow questions and frowns at honest answers. He’s the guy that makes a point of twisting his gold rings, fingering the jewellery in his ear, pulling back his suit jacket so his thousand-dollar watch is always in view. He’s the guy that’s very flashy, yet ironically dull.

When the waiter asks if they would like dessert Samuel says yes, and Zayn accidentally groans out loud. 

“Something wrong?” Samuel asked, giving him a weird look. 

“Sorry,” Zayn said, trying to think of a good excuse. “I just remembered I have an essay due tomorrow, so I’ll be having to leave straight after dinner. Which is, um, annoying.”

Samuel pouts. “Damn, and tonight was going so well,” he said. Then a cheeky smile slid onto his face. “I could always pay your teacher off so you can have an extension.”

This intrigued Zayn, actually, but he shook his head. His proposal sounded a little bit too close to prostitution. “No, thank you.”

Once two slices of cheesecake were placed on their table, Samuel resumed telling Zayn a really unfunny story about how him and his brothers used to run off with their maid’s cleaning products and hide them around the house so that by the time their parents were home she had barely cleaned two rooms, and was fired for telling the truth while the boys played innocent. Zayn hummed along and chuckled, but it was all forced. Zayn’s mum had taken a second job as a maid when all four of her children were in school and needing textbooks and school uniforms and lunch money, and he’d heard all the horror stories of bratty kids and ungrateful adults. 

“That’s so funny,” Zayn said dryly when he was finished. Samuel was practically honking with laughter, drawing attention from nearby tables. Zayn sank a little lower in his seat. 

“You must be really worried about your essay,” Samuel said, wiping tears from his eyes. “That story’s a killer.”

“I really am worried, actually,” Zayn said, standing up. “It was so nice to come out with you, Samuel.”

“It’s Shane,” the man said. “Wait-”

But Zayn was already leaving. Shane couldn’t, thankfully, follow after him because he hadn’t paid the bill yet, so Zayn made the most of his head start and jogged to the first taxi he saw, sliding into his seat and ducking low so Shane wouldn’t see him if he managed to duck out. Stupidly, Zayn couldn’t help but think how much nicer it was having coffee with Liam today. 

*

“Niall,” Zayn gasped out, breathing heavily when the blonde boy finally answered the door.

“Hiya, Zayn,” Niall grinned. He watched Zayn heaving breaths with a worried looks. “I live next door to you, mate. I think you need to go to the gym if a ten foot walk is doing this to you.”

“I ran - here - from class,” Zayn panted. He clutched his stomach where a tight stich was beginning to form, and leant against the doorframe with his other hand. “I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Whatever you want,” Niall agreed easily.

Zayn grinned thankfully. “Your friend Liam’s number.”

“No can-do,” Niall said instantly.

“You just said whatever I want!” Zayn blanched. 

“Payno’s a private guy, Zayn,” Niall shrugged. “I can ask him if I can give it to you.”

“No,” Zayn said instantly. 

In class, when he’d been struck with the thought that he had the ability to contact Liam himself, he’d imagined easily grabbing his number off Niall, then calling casually and making up some shitty excuse (like “Hey, did you pick up my pen?” or something), and keep the conversation going for a few minutes so that Liam would have the chance to ask him out. Zayn had come to the conclusion that the other boy had felt intimidated by him or had to leave quickly to do something, and thus wasn’t able to ask him out the other day. He figured he’d be nice and give the boy another chance.

“Can I have some water?” Zayn grumbled. Niall nodded, so Zayn entered the dorm and curled up on Niall’s couch, shivering. “Damn, Niall, can you turn the heater on?”

“I’d rather not melt, thanks,” Niall said, coming back to the couch with a glass of water for Zayn and a beer for himself. He was wearing a tank top and basketball shorts. Stupid Irish fuck. “Why do you want is number, anyway?”

“No reason,” Zayn lied. He sipped his water while he thought of a better excuse. “Just, like, my birthday’s coming up, and I was thinking about having a DJ.”

“So you’re actually going to have a party?” Niall asked, surprised. Zayn wasn’t, but he’d dug his grave so he should probably lay in it. He nodded, watching Niall’s entire face light up. “Can I plan it?”

“No,” Zayn said immediately. “Between you and Louis there would be strippers and fireworks and shit. I don’t want something big like that.”

“But you’re turning twenty-one,” Niall pouted. “What if we promised to keep it boring, would you let us do it?”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “Define boring.”

“Adjective: not interesting, tedious,” Niall recited. Zayn gave him a flat look. “I don’t know. Cake, music, alcohol. Balloons and shit.”

“And you’ll clean up afterwards?” Zayn asked, firm.

“We will,” Niall promised. Zayn wasn’t convinced. “Probably.”

“Fine,” Zayn conceded. Niall fist-pumped, already pulling out his phone, no doubt to text Louis the news. “But I want Liam to DJ. And keep it small.”

“You can’t have a small party if you have a DJ,” Niall told him.

“Niall,” Zayn warned. 

“Keep it small, got it,” Niall said, waving his hand dismissively. He was texting Louis excitedly, completely distracted. Zayn got up to leave and Niall barely noticed, only looked up enough to say goodbye before he was calling Louis, apparently fed up with trying to explain everything through short messages. 

Zayn closed the door behind him, frowning. He now had a huge stich, there were two lunatics planning a party that he didn’t want to have, and he didn’t have Liam’s number. Today has not gone well so far.

*

His phone was buzzing again. Zayn glared at it from where he was barely conscious in a cocoon of warm sheets. He watched as it vibrated across his bedside table, going absolutely berserk and threatening to fall over the edge. 

He reached out to grab it, cursing at how cold it was outside of his warm bed burrito. “Hello?” he answered groggily.

“Zayn Javadd Malik, it is past noon on a Wednesday.”

“Mum?” Zayn croaked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, except for my son being a lazy sod,” Trisha huffed. There was a pause. “Also Louis mentioned you’ll be having a party this year.”

“Oh my God,” Zayn groaned. “Why would he tell you that?”

“Because he’s a good boy who keeps your mother in the loop of things,” Trisha answered sharply. Zayn rolled his eyes at Louis being called a ‘good boy’. He had long since realised that Louis could do no wrong in his mother’s eyes. “So, it’s true, then?”

Zayn sighed. “Yes, mum, I am having a birthday party. Why-“

“Does this mean we need to transfer you some money?” Trisha cut him off. “For some nibbles? Or some alcohol, maybe, if you’ll be safe about it. No more than two standard drinks an hour, Zayn. I’m serious. I didn’t raise an alcoholic.”

“Drinking at a party doesn’t make you an alcoholic, mum,” Zayn said. “And no, you don’t need to transfer money. I’m fine.”

“I’m going to transfer it,” Trisha said, completely ignoring him. “With your birthday money. Do you want me to mail you some snacks? I can send some samosas in a freezer bag, if you’d like.”

“No, mum.”

“Actually, Doniya said she needs to drive into London next week, so she can drop them off to you on her way.”

“Mum, oh my god.”

“She’ll probably stop by on her way back, actually, because I think she mentioned she and David were going to visit his parents on the way there,” Trisha barrelled on. “So she will be there on the morning of your birthday, actually. Oh, then she can just give you your birthday money in person! Or I could buy you a proper present.”

“Mum.”

“Do you have enough socks, Zayn?” she asked, slightly scolding. “Louis says you keep nicking his. Maybe I should just buy you a year’s supply of socks. Because if I give you money you’re just going to get another tattoo, aren’t you? Like that atrocious skull on your shoulder. Although, I do like the bird you have at the top of your spine. That one is quite lovely-”

“Mum!” Zayn all but shouted. Trisha released a breath, like she hadn’t breathed the entire time she’d been talking. Zayn pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have plenty of socks, Louis’ just a filthy liar and doesn’t remember that he hasn’t bought a pair of socks in his life and thinks all of mine are his. Doniya doesn’t need to stop by and give me samosas. She doesn’t need to come at all, actually. Please don’t send her. And don’t transfer extra money – I’m fine, honestly.” 

He doesn’t mention that yes, he’ll be getting more tattoos with the birthday money, and yes, he actually would quite like some samosas. He misses his mumps cooking quite a bit. But, as stupid as it was, he’d built up a pretty decent reputation for himself here, and didn’t fancy having all of it crumble when his older sister shows up at his doorstep with a freezer bag full of samosas and a huge package of socks under her arm.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Trish said. Zayn buried further under his duvet, wondering if he could turn down the volume of his phone without having to change his comfortable position. “How are you, Zayn?”

“Tired,” Zayn answered, yawning. His mum made a disapproving noise. “But pretty good. How’re dad and the girls?”

“Your father is currently at work, hiding from me,” Trisha grumbled. “He tried to tighten a water pipe and ended up bursting it, so he half-flooded the bathroom before Waliya used some gum and a hand towel to plug it up. She’s very resourceful, apparently.”

“Or just chews a lot of gum,” Zayn said.

“And Safaa is doing brilliantly at school,” Trisha said. “Well, aside from that one mishap. Did Louis tell you?”

Louis did tell him. A boy had looked down her dress and made some pretty gross comments. So Safaa punched him into the face, and kicked him so hard in the nuts that Zayn could almost feel it when Louis told him the story. He couldn’t stop laughing, and called Safaa once he knew she’d been home from school to congratulate her and ask if she was okay. Apparently she had become a local legend at her school, and had been proudly showing off her bruised knuckles to anyone who asked. 

“He did,” Zayn said, sniggering. “How unfortunate.”

“I was furious with her,” Trisha said. “But then that boy’s mum, little miss Helen Dormanhousser, gave me that whole ‘boys will be boys’ shit and asked for Safaa to apologise, and I nearly ripped out one of her silicon implants to smack her across the face with.”

“You should have,” Zayn said. 

“I’m a civil woman, Zayn, I’m not going to rip of someone’s breasts,” Trisha lectured. “Anyway, she’s doing well. She got a Literature award.”

“Taking after me, then,” Zayn smirked.

“She better not,” his mother grumbled. “One child who smokes and has an ink addiction is enough, thank you very much.”

Zayn grinned. “You love me.”

“I do,” Trisha said, sighing. “Look, I have to go, but I just wanted to check in. So, uh. Eat your greens. Don’t be too mean to Louis. And meet a good boy to bring home.”

Stupidly, Zayn thought of Liam. He pushed the image of earnest eyes from his mind. “Alright, see you mum. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she said before hanging up. The moment he heard the line go dead he dialled another number, and waited impatiently for an answer. 

“What’s up?” Louis asked.

“Stop calling my mum,” Zayn snapped, then hung up. Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep now, he slid his way out of bed. He thanked god he’d worn socks to bed when his feet hit the cold, hardwood floor. Despite the fact that he was wear sweatpants and a thick, comfortable sweater that was way too big for him, he was absolutely freezing. 

He wondered over to his home coffee machine, turning it on so it could warm up while he got the milk ready. He groaned when he realised that he’d forgotten to order more pods for it, and put the milk away. Looks like he’ll be doing a coffee run. 

Not bothering to get dress, he simply slid on thick boots, gloves, and his bulky winter jacket. He backtracked and grabbed a beanie, too, knowing that his ears would freeze otherwise. He wasn’t particularly worried about how he looked – the hood of the jacket would hide his face from people while he walked and, besides, it’s fucking winter and he can rug up if he wants to. 

Niall was leaving his dorm at the same time, and smirked when he looked at how many layers he was wearing. He himself was wearing jeans and a plain white shirt, with a thin cardigan with the sleeves rolled up. He wasn’t even wearing waterproof shoes. Zayn hated him a little.

“Trying to drown yourself in clothing, are you?” he teased.

“It is two degrees outside, Niall,” Zayn told him. “Two.”

“Better take my cardy off, then,” Niall said, pretending to take his cardigan off and laughing at Zayn’s horrified look. “Joking, mate. Calm down.” 

They started walking together, down the hallway, two flights of stairs, and out the front of the building. Zayn immediately pulled his hood up to try and combat the insistent wind. Niall took a deep breath like he’d walked out into the sun. 

“Going to class?” Zayn asked, burying his hands in his pockets. 

Niall nodded. “Stupid class, too. Like, who puts just one class on at one o’clock? It would make more sense to put a bunch of classes on the same day, but no, that have to give us one class a day just to be difficult.”

“What are you even studying?” Zayn asked, not for the first time.

Niall made a vague noise. “I asked Liam about your party, by the way,” Niall told him instead. “Said he’d love to do it.”

It took a moment for Zayn to remember what he was talking about. “Oh,” Zayn said. “Cool.”

“He might call you at some point to ask what music you’re into,” Niall said. He waved at someone who called out his name, turning back to Zayn with a grin. “He told me that you like the soundtrack to ’50 Shades of Grey’, though.”

“Did he?” Zayn chuckled, smiling softly.

“Zayn,” Niall said slowly. “How does Liam know what your favourite music is?” 

Zayn didn’t answer.

“Is that why you wanted his number?” Niall asked. He was almost bouncing in excitement. “Has Leemo won your heart?”

“We talked for five minutes, calm down,” Zayn said, batting Niall’s hand away when he tried to poke his cheek.

“Are you going to have babies?” Niall asked gleefully. “Are you going to take his last name? Zayn Payne sounds nice. Good alliteration.”

“You mean rhyme,” Zayn corrected. “And I’m not taking his last name.”

Niall didn’t look any less delighted. “So he’ll take yours? Or will you hyphenated? ‘Hi, we’re the Malik-Paynes. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“Goodbye, Niall,” Zayn said, walking off towards the café when they got close enough to Niall’s lecture building. Niall shouted some embarrassing (and slightly disturbing) comments after him. The only reason why Zayn didn’t flip him off was because his hands were too cold. 

As if his day couldn’t get worse, Cameron was working the register when Zayn walked in. His expression turned sombre when he realised who Zayn was, and didn’t look him in the eyes. It wasn’t the worst run-in he’d have with someone he’d promised too much to, but it still made his stomach curl.

“What can I get you?” Cameron asked, voice carefully void of emotion. His eyes were very expressive, though. Zayn felt like shit.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn blurted out before he could stop himself. The cashier looked up at him hesitantly, waiting for him to continue. Zayn was left fishing his brain for a plausible excuse. “I, um. I have a boyfriend.”

“What?” Cameron asked, appalled. Zayn saw the barista behind him pause, clearly listening. 

“Yeah,” Zayn lied, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He wished Louis were here to help him. “I didn’t know how to turn you down because you looked all hopeful and cute, so I gave you a different number because I didn’t want to disappoint you. Sorry.”

“Well, it was kind of disappointing to call the number you gave me and have to explain to some deaf old woman that I wasn’t her grandson finally calling her back,” Cameron grumbled. Zayn tried to keep his face straight. He failed when Cameron cracked a smile. “But it’s okay. I understand.” 

“And I, uh, bought money to pay you back for the drink,” Zayn offered. Zayn really didn’t have the money to spare, but figured part of his birthday money can replace what he’s wasted on campus coffee. 

“That’s okay,” Cameron shrugged. “I wouldn’t have offered to buy it if I wasn’t prepared to actually pay for it, you know?”

“But you used your tips to buy it,” Zayn pointed out. “You shouldn’t have to pay for my drink just because I was stupid.” 

“It’s fine, honestly,” the cashier said. He looked over Zayn’s shoulder, and both of them noticed that there were now two people lined up behind him. “Caramel latte?”

“Please,” Zayn said. He handed over the money and refused to take the change when it was offered to him, instead insisting Cameron put it in the tip jar. It wasn’t enough to cover the cost of the coffee he owed, but it was something. 

Drink warming his hands, Zayn began the trek back to his dorm. He didn’t have anything to do today, and all his immediate friends were in classes, so he was sort of bummed. At least it gave him a chance to binge watch ‘The Simpsons’ until he’d have to leave the room again to get dinner. 

Just as he was walking back into his dorm building, his phone started buzzing madly in the pocket of his sweatpants, almost making him drop his coffee. Zayn really needs to figure out how to tone down the vibration setting. 

“Hello?” he answered, not recognising the number. 

“Hey Zayn,” a familiar, deep voice said. “It’s Liam. Um. Niall’s friend. From when we got coffee.”

“I know who you are, Liam,” Zayn said, grinning. He peeled his gloves off one at a time, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know if Niall told you, but he asked me to DJ at your party,” Liam said. Zayn thanked every deity he could think of that Niall hadn’t mentioned that Zayn had specifically asked for him. 

“He may have mentioned it,” Zayn responded casually. 

“Cool,” Liam said. There was a pause, and then Liam appeared to remember why he was calling. “Right. Well. I was wondering what music you’re into? Aside from The Weeknd.”

“Just the sort of music you play at Niall’s parties,” Zayn told him. “You don’t need to waste your time making a whole new playlist for me.”

“Oh, it’s not a waste of time,” Liam said sincerely. “I like doing it. Perfect song for the iconic scenes, remember?”

“I remember,” Zayn said, grinning. He unlocked his dormitory door and stripped out of his jacket while he spoke, wondering how endearing one guy could possibly be. “I trust your judgement, so throw together whatever you like. Surprise me.”

“Are you sure?” Liam asked. “Because I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” Zayn answered.

“Okay, then,” Liam said. There was a pause, a natural end to the conversation, and Zayn scrambled to find something interesting to say before Liam hung up on him.

“I went back to the coffee shop and Cameron was there,” Zayn said without thinking. He almost smacked himself in the face.

Liam was rightfully confused. “Who?”

“The, uh, the guy,” Zayn sputtered. “The guy who bought me coffee.”

“Oh,” Liam said. His tone was less enthusiastic.

“And I tried to pay him back for the coffee,” Zayn said quickly. “And I apologised. He wouldn’t take any money from me so I put it in the tip jar.”

“That’s nice,” Liam said after a moment. “Did you tell him the truth?”

Zayn winced. “Sort of,” he said.

“Sort of?” Liam repeated, unimpressed. 

“It was mostly the truth. Like, seventy percent truthful,” Zayn rambled. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?” 

“Right,” Liam intoned. It didn’t sound like he was agreeing with him. “Well, I better go.”

“Liam,” Zayn said before the other boy could hang up. Liam listened, waiting. Zayn found he didn’t have anything to say, even though he felt like he needed to. 

“Yes, Zayn?”

“I’ll see you at the party,” Zayn rushed. He hung up the phone, staring at the blank screen and wondering why he was so stupid. What did he think was going to happen – Liam would congratulate him on his gallant efforts and offer to come over and suck his dick? Honestly. 

Zayn collapsed onto his bed, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. He saved Liam’s number as ‘DJ Frappuccino’, because this situation is a fucking joke. Then he got up again, suddenly too restless to sit there for long. This whole situation was weird.

*

The thing about Niall and Louis planning his party is that they kept everything as a total secret. While Zayn knew a party was coming, and figured it would happen on his birthday, his knowledge about the whole shindig was pretty limited. So when Louis and Harry stormed into his dorm room the night before his birthday, he was rightfully surprised. 

“C’mon, get dressed,” Louis said, pulling the blankets off of Zayn without hesitation. “We’ve got a tight schedule to adhere to.”

“Adhere,” Harry parroted, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a good word.”

“Thank you, Harold,” Louis said. Harry beamed. Zayn glared at both of them. “Zayn, get the fuck up.”

“Why should I?” Zayn asked, trying to warm his bare legs again with his pillows. Louis wrestled them from his lap. 

“Because we have spent the last week planning a spectacular party for you, and it would be sort of weird if you didn’t show up,” Louis said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Although, the party would still go on without you. Niall and I could split the presents.” 

Zayn groaned, and slid out of bed. Harry passed him a gift bag, beaming at Zayn’s astonished face. “Happy birthday, Zayn,” he said. 

“My birthday’s tomorrow,” Zayn said. Confused, he pulled Harry into a hug regardless. 

Zayn dug into the bag, finding no card. (“I’ll give that to you tomorrow,” Harry said.) He did find a brand new shirt though, that was soft to the touch and probably cost way more than Zayn deserved. He hugged Harry again, muttering his thanks. He figured Louis probably put money in for the shirt, too, and went to hug Louis, but blanched when Louis let out an ungodly scream.

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” he yelled, pointing at Zayn’s head as if he didn’t know what Louis was going on about.

His hairdresser had asked him to try out something, and Zayn had agreed easily, not particularly attached to how his hair kind of flopped uselessly. Antony had then proceeded to shave the sides of his head so that Zayn had some sort of long mohawk. When his hair wasn’t tied up it fell against one side of his face, almost all the way down to his chin. “I like it,” Zayn said defensively.

Louis looked sufficiently annoyed. “How the fuck does literally every hairstyle suit you?” he asked, exasperated. “One day I’m going to give you a buzz cut and dye what’s left of it green, and see how well you look then.”

While Louis was still grumbling, Harry helped Zayn pick out an outfit. Zayn had no idea what sort of party they were going to, but both of the other boys looked relatively well-dressed as though they were going to an expensive club, so Zayn fished out a pair of tight black jeans and a pair of semi-fancy brown suede shoes. He got dressed, giving Harry a reassuring smile when he slipped on his new shirt. It fit perfectly, not too tight despite how it clung slightly to his figure. It was collared and was buttoned right to the top, with the short sleeves rolled up once as part of the design and showing off his tattoos. The material itself had narrow purple and white stripes that were quite flattering, if Zayn may say so himself. 

Louis whistled, assessing Zayn’s outfit. “I reckon keep the jewellery simple, just one or two rings.”

Zayn complied, dutifully reaching for a couple of silver rings on his dresser. But Louis stopped him, holding out a small velvet box.

“You better not be proposing,” Zayn joked, because he didn’t know how to express his gratitude properly. “Especially not with your boyfriend in the room. At least wait until we’re alone.”

“Come off it,” Louis said. The blue-eyed boy watched his face carefully as Zayn opened the box, finding two simple thick, silver rings. They fit perfectly on his middle and pointer fingers. Zayn looked up at Louis, astonished. “I may have stolen one of your rings so they could be fitted properly.”

“Louis,” Zayn said thickly. Louis was one of seven siblings, and was barely able to pay for instant-cook noodles and cheap cordial most weeks. He worked an insane amount of hours at a liquor store, and spent a decent portion of what he earnt on public transport just to get to and from work. The only reason he stayed was because he got a staff discount on the alcohol (and, one night months ago when Zayn had asked, he’d quietly admitted that he’d never been able to keep a job for so long without his lack of filter and strange impulses getting him fired, and he didn’t want to screw up a good thing and have his mum and step-dad bail him out for groceries again until he was able to find a new job). So Zayn knew for a fact that Louis could not afford these rings.

“I know that look,” Louis said, backing away with his palms up. “And you’re not returning them. I’d just keep them, and we both know that they wouldn’t suit me. So. No give-backs.” 

Speechless, Zayn pulled the boy into a tight hug. “You’re amazing, Lou.” 

He sniffed loudly. “If you make me cry, I’ll murder you to death.”

“You should murder me to life instead,” Zayn said, pulling back. “It’d be way more impressive.”

There was a lull, the three boys just adamantly staring away from each other so none of them would start crying – Zayn and Louis because of the touching moment, and Harry because he loves a good cry. 

“Well,” Louis said, clasping his hands together. “We should get going. The party awaits.”

*

Zayn was expecting to be led to one of the communal areas in another dorm building, but was instead ushered into a waiting taxi. Louis and Harry piled in after him, twin grins on their faces. Zayn couldn’t help but smile down at his hands, twisting the new rings on his fingers. He fucking loved his friends.

He didn’t love them so much when they pulled up in front of a club that he knew for a fact was closed on Thursday nights. He could almost feel the music rolling out of the open doors, though, and flashes of light were escaping out into the dark street from high up windows. 

“You didn’t,” Zayn said in awe, seeing the bouncers wearing matching black shirts with pictures of Zayn’s face plastered in the middle of them. He turned to Louis and Harry where they had arrived next to him on the footpath. He watched them smile, incredulous. “You did not hire out a club for my fucking birthday.”

“We didn’t,” Louis told him. “Niall did.”

Louis jumped out of the way before Zayn could punch his shoulder, and hid behind Harry. 

“Let’s go in,” Harry said, smiling innocently. “Party’s been going on for, like, over an hour now.” 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Zayn told them, beginning to walk towards the entrance.

Louis snorted. “If you think this is ridiculous-”

He cut off when Harry elbowed them. Zayn watched them, terrified. “What?” he asked lowly. Louis said nothing and just pushed him inside. The bouncers let them through immediately, smirking down at their shirts and then up at Zayn. 

As soon as he walked in, the music stopped and over a hundred heads turned to him, screaming “Happy birthday!” before the music resumed. Zayn felt Louis pushing at his back insistently until he stumbled forward, dozens of people rushing at him one at a time to hug him and wish him happy birthday. He found people from his classes, his dorm, from the soccer team he’d been on with Louis in their first year before Louis had to quit to take on more hours at work and it became less fun for Zayn. There were people he’d met at Niall’s parties, and all of the other young artists that did commissions at the gallery like him. Almost every person he knew that lived within the city was here, half-drunk and partying hard to the music. He caught a glimpse of a few people from home, Danny and Ant craning their heads over the crowd, but in a moment Zayn had lost them in the sea of people. Louis kept pushing at his back, guiding him right up to the bar where Niall was standing between two bartenders, pink-cheeked and grinning broadly.

“You promised this would be fucking simple,” Zayn said, leaning over the bar to pull Niall into a hug. The angle was awkward, but he could feel Niall grinning into his neck and everything was perfect.

“It’s your twenty-first, mate,” Niall said with a shrug. 

“How could you even afford this place?” Zayn asked looking around.

“Everyone chipped in a bit,” Niall told him. “You don’t have many presents as a result, but I know that you always feel awkward with presents, so mostly they’re just from close friends who know what to buy you.”

Zayn wanted to kiss Niall. Instead, he took the shot that was offered to him, and downed it. Everyone near him cheered when he dropped the glass back on the bench. There were a few belated yells from obviously inebriated people, causing Zayn to laugh as he examined the room.

It was mayhem. The boys had, thankfully, kept it relatively simple other than size and location. Lights streamed overhead, changing so rapidly that Zayn was constantly losing people in the blur of colours. There were a few raised platforms where handfuls of people could be found dancing above the others and spraying their friends with liquor. A top level could be seen that was lined with couches and was softly lit with lamps, but almost no one was up there. Zayn’s eyes moved across and down, and his eyes fell on the DJ booth. 

Liam was there, of course, lost in the music and grinning as people would periodically come up to the booth and shout praise up at him. Liam would wave them off with a dorky grin and return to his laptop, lining up the next song and blending it in with the current one. He seemed completely oblivious of the girls hanging outside the booth, gazing up at him and swaying their hips suggestively. 

“What do you think?” Niall asked. He had jumped out from behind the bar while Zayn was distracted, and now wrapped an arm around Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn leant into him, sighing. “This is amazing, Niall, thank you,” he yelled over the music. 

“Want to dance?” the Irishman asked. 

Zayn looked over to the DJ booth again, wanting to go say hi to Liam, but figured that would be weird considering he doesn’t know Liam, not really. “Sure,” he said. “But I need another drink.”

For once, no one needed to buy his drinks. Everything was covered for by the down payment, leaving a plethora of expensive alcohols at his exposal. 

“What would you like, Zayn?” Niall asked, gesturing to the shelves of spirits. “Vodka important from Russia? Whiskey imported from Ireland? Tequila imported from Spain?”

“Stop quoting ‘High School Musical’,” Louis groaned. Niall just laughed.

“I don’t know,” Zayn said honestly. Usually at clubs he would just point to something that looked good and hoped for the best. He doesn’t even know the names of majority of what he drinks. 

Niall hailed down a bartender. “Four ABC shots, thanks.” 

The bartender nodded and got to work. Louis cheered and high-fived Niall while Harry watched the bartender pour different bottles of liquids expertly into slightly larger than normal shot glasses. Soon the glasses were being slid towards them. The alcohol was layered into three parts: amber, cream, and brown liquor, respectively. 

“Bottoms up, lads!” Louis shouted. Zayn didn’t hesitate like Harry when he swallowed down his.

An hour later, Zayn completely understood why Harry had been wary of the drink. Aside from the tequila shot at the start of the night, the mystery drink was the only thing he’d drunk since he’d arrived, and he was feeling it more acutely than anything else he’d ever tried before. His skin was glistening with sweat, and his hair had long since lost the artful structure it’d had at the beginning of the night. Peoples’ faces blurred in and out of his vision, everyone grinning and singing along as they all danced. Zayn must have looked ridiculous, bouncing around with Niall and then grinding with Lou and Harry. Sometimes the movements would become transient, and he’d just be there laughing as he practically humped Louis’ leg without any sort of heat. People cut in for dancers, but it wasn’t to try and seduce Zayn, or anything. They just all wanted to dance with the birthday boy, dragging him into clusters of cheering people so that they could butcher the dance moves to ‘Gangnam Style’ while the speakers actually blasted a remix of ‘My Heart Will Go On’. 

He was that sort of loose drunk where he let himself have fun but was fully in control of his actions. So he had absolutely no excuse for mounting the stairs to the DJ booth, waving at the groupies as he went by.

“Zayn, happy birthday!” Liam greeted when he closed the door. 

“Hey, Leeyum,” Zayn grinned. He held out the glass of rum and coke in his hand. “Bought you a drink.”

“Thanks,” Liam said. He pressed something on his laptop so that it’d play a constant beat over the audio of a Drake song without Liam having to do anything. He took the drink off Zayn gratefully, gulping it down. Zayn noticed how sweaty he was.

“It’s really hot in here,” Zayn commented, watching as Liam’s neck glistened as he swallowed down half the drink in one go. Zayn gulped. 

“Boiling,” Liam agreed. He grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged it a few times, obviously trying to air himself out. “I’ve been tempted to just take off me shirt all night.”

“You should,” Zayn said before he could help himself. Liam gave him an odd look, taking another sip of his drink. Zayn’s mouth went dry. “For, like, the girls down there,” he said, gesturing to the half-dozen girls from his Revolutions class that were grinding on each other and trying to get Liam’s attention. “I’m sure they’d really enjoy it.”

Liam blushed a deep red, right down to his chest where Zayn could see skin peeking from a few undone buttons. “Nah, they don’t want to see that.” 

“Sure they do,” Zayn said. From what Zayn could see, Liam had no reason to be self-conscious about his body. He raised an eyebrow. “Dare you.”

Liam watched him for a moment. Zayn was sure that Liam could see through him, could see how suddenly desperate Zayn was to know how Liam looked under his clothes. He hadn’t thought about Liam this way before, but with the alcohol in his system he was suddenly drowning in inappropriate thoughts; Liam shirtless and pinning him against a wall, Liam down to just his boxers and worshipping Zayn’s body, Liam completely naked and fucking him senseless. But then Liam smiled easily and undid the remaining buttons on his shirt and stripped it off completely. Below them, Zayn could hear a whole bunch of people cheering. 

Liam resumed his duty as DJ, and put on a new song that had some people literally screaming in excitement, bodies on the dancefloor pressing closer together. It took Zayn’s foggy mind a moment to recognise the song underneath the pounding bass, but he grinned widely when he finally heard the lyrics to ‘Often’. 

Liam was singing along absentmindedly, one hand scrolling through his laptop while the other tapped out a beat on a sound board. “Girl I do this often, make that pussy poppin’…”

Zayn started dancing around in the cramped booth, much to Liam’s amusement.

“Want to try?” Liam asked him, gesturing to the different equipment in front of him. 

Zayn nodded eagerly, stepping forward into Liam’s space. Liam moved so that Zayn could stand in front of him. Zayn looked down at all the different things in front of him, trying to fight the urge to press literally every button in sight. The only reason he didn’t was because Liam was now grabbing his hands and directing one to the laptop and the other to the glowing pad he’d been tapping on before. 

“So, just pick a song,” Liam said, pointing to the playlist on the left-hand side of the laptop’s screen. Zayn scrolled for a moment, feeling Liam’s chest being forced to rest against his back because of how cramped the space was, and selected ‘Beautiful Now’ by Jon Bellion. “So now the song is cued to be played, and it starts when you press here-” Liam pointed to a button “-but you want to start it once you’re finished with this song,” he finished, singing along to the song almost like he couldn’t help it. 

It was clear to Zayn that this right here was Liam’s ultimate passion. Looking over his shoulder he could see Liam’s eyes were bright where they watched the soundwaves pulse on the screen in front of him. He was humming along to the song, swaying slightly in time to the music. When he caught Zayn’s eye, Zayn turned away because he can’t handle being so close to a happy Liam without kissing him. “What do I do with this thing?” he asked, pointing to the pad on his right.

“This is called a launch pad, or sound pad controller,” Liam said. “All the sounds are pre-programmed, so all you have to do is press the buttons.”

Zayn grinned happily.

“The one right in the bottom right corner is a bass drum, and then the ones on each side of it are different drums, and the ones on the outside of those are symbols and snares,” Liam said, pointing to where he was talking about and tapping on each bottom in time with the beat of the music. Zayn mimicked him, enthralled by Liam’s praise in his ear when he started tapping out a beat with three of the buttons. “You’re a natural,” he said, grinning. He pointed to what looked like a miniature key board in the centre of the desk. “I dunno how much you know about pianos and stuff, but if you want to play a riff over the top of a song you can do it on this. You can change whether you want it to sound like a keyboard or guitar or whatever, too.”

Zayn experimentally tapped out something on the keyboard, just a random tune he’d learnt a couple years ago and hadn’t forgotten. It didn’t fit with the song at all, but Liam smiled like it didn’t matter. 

With a nod from Liam, Zayn clicked the button to cue in the next song. After a bit of fumbling and a lot of off sounding notes, the two of them started up a system. Zayn would cautiously click away on the sound pad until he found a cool rhythm that he liked, while Liam reached a hand around Zayn’s back to improvise on the keyboard, which emitted a bunch of synth sounds. Liam’s other hand was casually placed on the small of Zayn’s back, a warm little pressure that urged Zayn to go on even once a new song had been cued in. It was a way simpler song, allowing Zayn and Liam to experiment a bit more with how they layered it. Zayn was just starting to get the hang of it, he thinks, before Niall was sticking his head in the door.

“Sorry Payno,” he said, accent thicker than usual from the alcohol. “But it’s time. Code vanilla.” 

Liam nodded like this meant something to him. He nudged Zayn towards the door. “Go on, mate. Still a couple surprises left.”

Zayn didn’t particularly want to leave Liam, but Niall looked giddy with excitement so Zayn complied in taking his hand and being led back down the narrow stairs. They walked back over to the bar, where an absolutely humongous cake was perched with Harry and Louis making sure no one touched it. The bartenders helped Niall and Zayn jump over the bar, and from there Zayn could read the words ‘Congratulations on escaping the womb’ written in chocolate cursive over fluffy white cream. Two candles were perched at the top, a 2 and a 1, with small pansies drawn on the wax. Louis looked incredibly proud of the addition.

Zayn heard as the song changed from something Bieber to an incredibly bouncy version of ‘Happy Birthday’. The entire crowd sang along, swaying with arms around each other and holding their drinks up in salute while Zayn’s face nearly split in half from how much he was smiling. With Niall’s arm around him and all of his friends screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs, Zayn felt incredibly emotional and couldn’t help but cry happily into Niall’s shoulder once the song was finished. Everyone cheered around him, clapping out his age and yelling tunelessly. 

A bartender passed Zayn a knife, and he quickly wiped away his tears before anyone else could see and then cut into the cake. True to tradition, Zayn kissed the nearest girl, who happened to be Laura Pinson from his art class. Both of them scrunched up their face straight after. (What do you get when a lesbian and a gay guy kiss? The feeling that Zayn is kissing his cousin.)

“Get in, Zayn!” someone who clearly doesn’t know his sexuality shouted. Zayn nodded at him, fighting the urge to grab a napkin and wipe his tongue.

With a knowing look, Niall pressed another drink into his hand. “Maybe you’ll find someone to take home tonight, eh?” 

“You better make sure it’s with a guy,” Zayn told him seriously, façade cracking when he took a sip of the unknown drink and tasted something fruity. A plate of cake was thrusted in his face by Harry, who looked both anxious and excited. He made the cake, then.

“We’re gonna eat this glorious cake,” Zayn announced to his boys, “and then we’re going to party so hard that Niall will go to his one class tomorrow still drunk.” 

The three of them cheered and clinked their glasses together, grinning madly.

*

It must had been approaching four a.m. when Zayn finally stumbled out of the club. Louis and Harry had long since gone home, having to leave soon after midnight because Louis had one too many and vomited in some girl’s purse and then cried when she found out. Niall had gone home with a pretty girl and two bottles of Irish whiskey an hour or so later, leaving Zayn in the hands of Danny and Ant. 

From there things began running in to each other, and Zayn was passed from group to group as people began to leave. Zayn was determined to be the last one there, so he could properly say goodbye to everyone and continue feeling that warm fuzzy feeling he got when he knew he was surrounded by people who loved him. 

Liam seemed to be determined to stay until the end, too, only ever leaving the DJ booth to go to the toilet or get a drink and food. Zayn was impressed. Zayn had been at the club since nine p.m., meaning that Liam had been going at it for at least seven hours. 

He looked rightfully exhausted, too. When the last cluster of people left the club with a cheer, Liam stumbled down towards Zayn, and the two of them leant heavily against the bar. A second rotation of bartenders were cleaning up, paying the two of them no mind. Liam was sweaty all over, and his bare chest was almost heaving in exhaustion. His shirt was tucked into his back pocket and hang out like a rag, causing images of Liam as a sexy mechanic to float through Zayn’s mind before he was able to focus again. 

“That was a good party,” Liam said, voice slurring with tiredness. Zayn had been more or less watching Liam all night, and knew the guy hadn’t drunk more than a handful of rum and cokes the entire night. 

“It was,” Zayn agreed. He made a mental note to thank Niall and the other lads once they weren’t all hung over. “Ready to go, I think.”

“I’ve got to stay back and pack up my stuff, so,” Liam said, shrugging thirdly. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

Zayn watched as Liam blinked his eyes closed and took a moment too long to open them again, movements delayed by sleep. He looked ready to pass out. “Do you live far away?”

Liam shrugged. “Not too far. About thirty minutes north of the college, near the grocery.”

Zayn frowned. They were currently about twenty minutes south of the college. Zayn wasn’t about to let Liam catch a taxi for an hour so late (or, well, early). “You can come back to my dorm.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Liam said, shaking his head. He walked off to collect his stuff. Zayn followed him. “Seriously, Zayn, I’m a big boy. I can get home fine by myself.”

Zayn could see that Liam was a big boy. He could also see that Liam was trying to put the miniature keyboard into his laptop case. Zayn may be drunk, but he’s not fucked enough to ignore how dead Liam was on his feet. “You’re barely awake, Liam. And the cab fare will be way cheaper with both of us going to the same place.”

Liam rubbed his eyes, swaying slightly on the spot. “Fine,” he relented. “But I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Zayn didn’t have a couch. “Okay,” he said.

“Hey, man,” one of the bartenders called up to the booth. “We can lock up your equipment in the back room and you can just pick it up tonight before we open.”

Liam looked like he wanted to cry, he was so thankful. “Okay.”

The bartenders helped Liam carry his equipment through a door next to the bar while Zayn called a cab. It was only a matter of time before they were crawling into the taxi, slurring out the college address and settling back into the worn leather seats. Zayn felt like he blinked and they were there, the cab driving talking loudly to try and wake them up. Zayn saw that Liam was dead asleep, head leaning against the window and snoring softly. Zayn paid the cab fare with a wince, reasoning with himself that his birthday money was coming through tomorrow. He’ll just get a really, really small tattoo. 

He pushed at Liam’s shoulder until the boy woke with a start, eyes looking around the cab and out the window in surprise. “We’re here,” he said, confused.

“We are,” Zayn nodded. “But I’m too drunk to try and carry you to my room, so you need to walk. They both stumbled out of the car, waving sleepily at the taxi as it drove away. From there they more or less stayed upright due to leaning on each other in equal force. Zayn tripped up the stairs four times and Liam actually sat down at one point and fell asleep, but eventually they were pushing into Zayn’s room and blindingly searching the wall for a light. (It occurred to Zayn that he must have forgotten to lock the door when he left at the start of the night, because his door was unlocked and his keys were waiting for him on his bedside table. He found that he was too drunk to care.)

“There’s no couch,” Liam said, squinting at the room when Zayn gave up on finding the light switch. 

“Wha?” Zayn muttered, already stripping off his clothes and climbing into bed. A thick jumper was under his pillow, which he pulled on and wore with just his boxers, curling up under the covers. His eyes were already closed when Liam spoke again.

“No couch,” Liam mumbled. He, too, slid onto the bed, only needing to take off his shoes and pants. He didn’t ask for a shirt to wear. It was too cold for Zayn to hog the blankets, but the duvet wasn’t big enough to properly cocoon the both of them, so Zayn shuffled closer to Liam and wrapped them both up together. He pressed his cold toes against Liam’s bare calf, feeling the boy shudder before he went still, the two of them quickly dozing off to sleep.

*

Someone was knocking on his door. There was someone knocking on his fucking door, and wouldn’t fucking stop. Zayn was warm between the blankets, all the way down to his toes, and was not keen to give that up. But the person kept banging on the door and it felt like Zayn’s skull was being cracked by a can-opener. 

He stumbled out of the bed, immediately cursing when his bare feet hit the cold floor. He all but ripped open the door, blood boiling with anger, and was met by his sister.

Doniya was sufficiently amused by Zayn’s hung over state. “Started the celebrations early, then?” she said. Zayn stared at her, bewildered, before she rolled her eyes and pulled him in to a hug. “Happy birthday, bro.”

“Doni,” Zayn croaked out, voice absolutely raw. “What are you doing here?”

Doniya held up a freezer bag. Zayn groaned.

“I cooked a couple at before I left London,” she said. “So don’t be ungrateful, because I bought you breakfast.”

Now that she’d mentioned it, Zayn could smell spiced samosas and chutney. He may be feeling more than vaguely nauseous, but he dived for the bag his sister offered him and walked back into his room, sitting on the edge of the bed while he unwrapped a paper plate of cooked pasty.

“Although,” Doniya began, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “I’m not sure if I’ve cooked enough for all three of us.”

A samosa was halfway to Zayn’s mouth when he froze, looking up at her in confusion. She nodded to the bed he was sitting on, and he became suddenly aware that there was a bare foot poking out from under the covers. He pulled the blanket over it so that the owner wouldn’t get too cold, and resumed eating his food.

“Who is he, then?” Doniya asked. She was whispering, but Zayn knew that after last night there was no way Liam would be waking up any time soon. “A boyfriend you haven’t told me about?”

“No,” Zayn said, mouth full. 

His sister smirked. “A one night stand, then?”

Zayn shook his head, immediately regretting the decision when his head spun. “Just a friend taking a kip.” He held out the plate to her. “Want one?”

“I’ve got my own in the car,” Doniya said. “Speaking of, David’s probably eating them all, so I have to get going. Just wanted to deliver these and say happy birthday.”

She crossed the room to hug him again and ruffle his hair, making a face but not commenting on the new hairstyle. “Thanks, Doni,” Zayn said, already on his second pastry. 

Doniya went to leave, but suddenly backtracked while pulling an envelope from her pocket. “Almost forgot. Also, tell Niall to stop turning off his phone when I try and call him back.”

Zayn isn’t sure how soon after that Doniya left, because he was completely focussed on the amount of money in his hand. It was triple what his parents have sent him in past years, at least. He started eating again, already mentally planning which new tattoos he would get and where, looking around his room to try and remember where he’d put his sketches. 

Liam stirred in the bed, stretching slowly and then suddenly jolting up, looking at Zayn in surprise with his face crinkled by the pillow. He tore his eyes away from him to lift up the covers and look at his state of undress, then back up at Zayn, who sat patiently and ate happily. 

“Samosa?” Zayn offered.

“Why- what-” Liam sputtered, looking around the room. “What time is it?” 

Zayn shrugged. He dug his phone out of his jean pockets, and found that it was barely ten in the morning. “Too early. Samosa?”

Liam shook his head, still looking bewildered. Zayn returned the half-full plate back into the freezer bag and cast it aside, then climbed over Liam and back into the blankets. He cuddled up to Liam again, but the man pulled away.

“I have to go,” he said quickly, trying to slide out of bed. Zayn curled an arm around his stomach, trying to hold him close.

“Just sleep for a bit,” Zayn said, yawning. “Be my pillow.” 

Liam frowned down at him, but slowly laid back down. Zayn rested his head on Liam’s chest and threw a leg over him, trying to soak up as much warmth as possible. Liam shuddered and groaned. “Your feet are like popsicles.” 

Zayn rubbed his feet over Liam’s calves a few times, trying to heat them up. “Better?”

“Not even slightly,” Liam said. “If anything, you just made my legs colder.”

“Semantics,” Zayn dismissed, yawning again. He tried to sleep but Liam’s heart was beating too fast. “Liam?”

“Hmm?”

“Calm the fuck down,” Zayn said sweetly. “Your heart rate’s a mile a minute.”

“Sorry,” Liam apologised. “I’m just all keyed up now. I’m not used to sleeping in the same bed as someone.”

“You did last night,” Zayn pointed out.

“I was hardly conscious last night,” Liam countered. “Did I fall asleep on the stairs?”

“Maybe,” Zayn said non-comital. He buried his head into Liam’s neck, for all intents and purposes treating the man like a heated pillow. 

Liam hissed. “Your nose is freezing, too.”

“Do you usually complain this much in the morning?” Zayn asked, pulling back so he could squint at Liam. He was met with the image of plumb, pink lips, two-day stubble, and wide eyes. He swallowed a little thickly. 

“Usually I’m by myself in the morning,” Liam retorted, smiling a little. 

Zayn craned his neck to look up at Liam, smiling tiredly. “Well, I’m comfortable. So don’t you dare leave me.”

He didn’t look away immediately. He was too caught up in how Liam was looking at him, expression all soft and eyes glinting despite how obviously tired he was. Because he was such an open book, Zayn knew immediately what that look meant. So he wasn’t surprised when Liam leant down to kiss him.

His lips were soft, barely brushing Zayn’s with how gentle he was being. Zayn’s breath caught in his throat at how intimate it was. He kissed back, equally as gentle but cementing the kiss, feeling Liam sigh a little in relief. And then Zayn came to his senses, and pulled back. 

“Liam,” Zayn warned lowly, scrambling right away from the boy. Panic settled deep in his bones. “What was that?”

Liam looked confused. “I thought-“

“I know what you thought,” Zayn snapped, pulling the duvet tightly over himself, creating a physical barrier. “You’re just like all those other guys who think that just because I’m nice to them they can sleep with me.”

“Zayn,” Liam pleaded, but Zayn cut him off with a glare.

“Did you want the bragging rights, huh?” Zayn asked him. “Want to tell your friends that you finally fucked the untouchable Zayn Malik?”

Zayn had never felt so disgusted in his life. Yes, he’s a flirt, and yes, he often capitalises on how boys like to buy him gifts. But Liam doesn’t know how this feels. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be sexualised and objectified from the moment he steps out of his room. He doesn’t know what it’s like to get along with someone and genuinely like them, and then find them bragging to their friends about getting his number. Liam doesn’t know a single thing about how this shit affects him. 

He was almost shaking with anger, but Liam was frozen with hurt. 

“You said you didn’t want me to leave,” Liam said. “So I thought-“

“I didn’t want you to leave because you were a nice fucking pillow, Liam,” Zayn all but shouted.

Liam’s expression shifted at that. He squared his shoulders. “So I’m just another guy you think is wrapped around your finger?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Zayn said, rolling his eyes. 

“Don’t call me stupid,” Liam snapped. He got off the bed and pulled on his clothes hurriedly. Zayn felt something ugly curl in his stomach when Liam reached the door. “Happy birthday, Zayn,” he muttered before he was closing the door behind him. 

Zayn collapsed onto the bed, wondering why he came out of that feeling like the bad guy. 

*

Zayn passed the spiff over lazily, limbs heavy as the weed flooded his bloodstream. Louis took the bud between his fingertips, trying to suck the last of it out before it became too short to hold. It was their third spiff of the night and Zayn was pleasantly relaxed, lying on Louis’ apartment floor with the windows cracked open. 

“I like it here,” Zayn said like an admission, gazing around at the cracking walls and peeling paint, but also at the endless photographs and the space and the pieces of Louis and Harry that had made home here. “’s away from everything, you know.”

Louis reached up to drop what was left of the bud onto a plate with the other fingernail-length stubs, and flopped back down so that his arm was pressed to Zayn’s. It was comfortable despite the itchy carpet and freezing wind passing through the empty window. Louis turned to him, a teasing glint in his eye. “What’re you runnin’ from, then?” 

Zayn sighed. He knew that Louis wasn’t expecting a serious answer, voice slurred and eyes bright, but Zayn always felt he had to be brutally honest when he was high. “Liam.”

“Who?”

“Niall’s friend, the DJ from my party,” Zayn told him. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering why he was bringing him up. Louis was silent, waiting. Or maybe dozing – you could never really tell with Louis. Zayn pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drawl. “He kissed me.”

“Did he?” Louis hummed. He pulled out his own cig, blowing smoke rings into the air distractedly. 

“Yeah,” Zayn said, shrugging awkwardly. “And he yelled at me and now we haven’t spoken in, like, two weeks.” 

“Okay,” Louis said. His eyes were closed. 

Zayn frowned. “I thought he was just trying to fuck me. And he thought I was using him.”

Louis looked over in interest. “Were you?”

“Probably,” Zayn admitted. “But, like, from the beginning he’s low-key hated me, so I figured he wouldn’t want anything more, so when he kissed me I freaked out.”

Louis took a long time answering. He was blinking heavily, barely awake. “Why does he hate you?”

“I convinced this guy to buy me coffee and he thought it was really shitty to do,” Zayn said. Suddenly he barked a laugh. “He said that I was leading him on, and like, not following through, or whatever. But I didn’t know Liam wanted me to follow through with him, you know?”

“Did Liam buy you shit?”

“Not really,” Zayn said. “But still.”

“Then, just,” Louis began. Zayn waited for an answer, but was met with snoring. He had to shove Louis to get him to finish his thought. “Ouch, man. But like, just, forgot about him. Fuck ‘im, y’know? Fuck Liam if he hates you.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said, nodding vigorously. “Fuck Liam. He didn’t like me, anyway, so I don’t have to like him.”

Louis cheered and then fell asleep right on the floor. Zayn rolled his eyes at him, carefully stubbing out both their cigarettes. Fuck Liam. 

*

Zayn really wanted to fuck Liam. Like really, really wanted to fuck Liam. 

He had run into him, accidentally. Zayn had decided to go to the campus gym because he was feeling bored and restless, and found Liam curling weights right at the front of the room with some guy standing by and cracking jokes that made Liam laugh with crinkled eyes. His biceps were flexing and his feet were firmly planted on the ground, and all Zayn could do was stare. Liam didn’t see him, thank God, because he was too busy reaching over to shove his friend playfully. 

Zayn left as quickly as he could. 

(He may have beat off in the shower that night with thoughts of Liam’s strong arms pinning him up against a wall and fucking into him while his biceps flexed with effort. Zayn also may have left the bathroom blushing, unable to get the image out of his head.)

*

Zayn was dead tired come Friday morning. He’s not sure exactly what had made him so exhausted, considering he’d had a pretty mild week, but there was a weight on his shoulders that he just couldn’t shrug off. It didn’t help that his art professor was yelling his name across the courtyard. 

“Zayn,” Professor Lonsdale greeted once he stopped to talk to her. “Glad I ran into you. I wanted to talk about the designs for your final piece.” 

Zayn’s heart shuddered in his chest. “Yeah?”

Zayn had submitted frames for a graphic novel that had been in the back of his mind for over a year now. It was a huge risk considering everything he submits to the gallery has been technical, thought-provoking, admittedly pretentious paintings. He wasn’t sure what Ms Lonsdale would think, considering her background was in fine arts, too.

“Oh, don’t look so worried,” Lonsdale grinned, waving a hand as though to dismiss Zayn’s anxiety. “I merely wanted to ask why you suddenly changed approach. Just out of curiosity, not judgement.”

Zayn rubbed the back of his head, not particularly sure. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess it just sounded more interesting to me than any of the other ideas I had. And I can still incorporate some Renaissance styling into the colours and stuff.” 

“Sounds excellent,” Lonsdale said. “Remember that first drafts are due in two weeks, though. Graphic novels are amazing but are notoriously hard to complete within small frames of time, because you have to arrange the plot and characters as well. So just make sure you’re prepared for some late nights.”

“I am,” Zayn said, smiling. 

*

Niall’s dorm, unlike Zayn’s, had a separate bedroom and living room, and a small kitchen that he almost exclusively cooks ramen in. This made it an excellent venue for movie nights, where they could cuddle on the couch and watch random movies Niall’s downloaded on a whim. Louis and Harry were almost always there, too, making out in Niall’s armchair while Zayn threw popcorn at them (and he’s not sure why Niall keeps giving him bowls of popcorn, because Zayn adamantly hates it and almost always ends up throwing it at Louis). 

“You’re late,” Louis told him when he walked in.

“I’m ten minutes early,” Zayn told him. He checked his phone to make sure.

“Yeah, but you’re late compared to the rest of us, so you’re late,” Louis said. “Christ, man, you live next door. You’re a mess.”

Zayn rolled his eyes at him, “Where’s Niall?”

“Went to grab something,” Louis said dismissively. “Pick a seat, Malik, because you’re in for a bumpy ride.”

Zayn sat on the big couch, as far away from the couple as possible. “Oh yeah? What’re we watching?” 

“Well, we’re starting with Die Hard 2,” Louis said, a dramatic tone to his voice. “Then we have a French holocaust movie-“

“’La Raffle’,” Harry interjected.

“Right,” Louis said. “And then I think ‘Titanic’, but I’m not sure. Niall said it was the one with Leonardo DiCaprio and water – which, let’s be honest, could be any movie he’s ever been in.”

Zayn had long since gotten used to the irregularity of the movies they pick. Once he went from Swedish lesbian porn to the Grumpy Cat movie in one sitting, there wasn’t much else Niall could do to surprise him. 

Niall came in then, arms piled high with different assortments of chips, dip, and chocolate. Liam followed in shortly afterwards with two slabs of beer.

Both of them froze when their eyes met. Zayn’s ears were ringing, and it was like suddenly he was transported back to a week ago and Liam was kissing him again, a single breathy moan bouncing around Zayn’s head while he tried to focus on the present. Liam looked a little bit horror struck, mouth slightly ajar and blinking quickly. And then Niall was nudging him towards the kitchenette, having returned from dumping the snacks on the coffee table, and was directing him as to how many beers to put in the fringe and which had already been in there long enough to be drunk immediately. 

Zayn shifted on his seat uncomfortably for more reasons that one.

“You guys know Liam, right?” Niall said in way of introduction. Harry and Louis nodded their greetings to Liam. Zayn did nothing. 

“So, what should we start with?” Niall asked, plugging his laptop into the TV. 

“Die Hard 2,” Louis said immediately. “I need to be drunk for the other two.”

“Okey dokey,” Niall said, selecting the movie on the screen. He went to settle down in his usual spot on the opposite side of the couch to Zayn, grabbing a packet of crisps along the way. It was only once he sat down and curled into the armrest that Zayn realised with horror that the remaining seat was in between them.

Liam seemed to notice this at the same time. He looked around the room, wide-eyed, before he swallowed thickly and sat down on the cushion right next to him. The couch was small enough that their thighs were touching, even when Zayn crossed his legs and angled away from him. Liam was tense when he sat back. 

“Shouldn’t we watch the first Die Hard before this one?” Zayn asked, simply because the silence was crippling. 

He already knew the answer before it came. “Shouldn’t you shut the fuck up?” Louis said, eyes glued to the screen as the opening credits rolled on. Harry snorted into his chest. Their position did not look comfortable at all. 

Zayn didn’t know what to do with his hands so he grabbed a block of chocolate from the mountain of snacks and started stress eating. He was way too aware of the heat of Liam’s leg, the same heat he’d felt all over his body just days ago, cuddled up in bed before it all went to shit. His head was like an old cinema that only showed one movie: a film in his mind created from images of Liam naked, an audio of him swearing and moaning and telling Zayn what he wants to hear, an audience of one whose pants were getting increasingly tight at the most inappropriate time. 

He caught Liam side-eyeing him at one point, and didn’t know what else to do but hold out the chocolate in a silent question. 

“Thanks,” Liam whispered. He broke off a big enough chunk that Zayn doubts they’ll be talking again for the rest of the movie.

It was the worst decision Zayn had made in his life. You see, Zayn was aware of how people ate chocolate: they either broke of a piece with their hand or teeth and then chewed or sucked on it until it was gone and they were repeating the process. Liam, however, was a bit more alternative with how he ate chocolate. He just held in between two fingers and sucked it like a lollipop, lips darkening and tongue peeking out every now and again. Zayn didn’t realise he was staring until Liam caught him. 

“What?” he asked quietly, mindful of the others watching the movie. “Is there something on my face?”

There was, right in the corner of his mouth, but Zayn shook his head. 

He tried to watch the movie, he really did, but Liam was just so distracting. Once so much of the chocolate was gone that he couldn’t hold it anymore he popped it into his mouth, and then spent the next five minutes coughing quietly and clearing his throat, mouth obviously dry.

Niall was the one who cracked. “I swear to God, Payno, if you don’t stop coughing I’ll tell your mum about Annabelle Pugh’s fifteenth birthday party.”

It was too dark to know for sure, but Zayn thinks Liam might be blushing. Liam wordlessly got up to grab a glass of water, nicking the back of Niall’s head when he sat back down. Zayn watched his throat move as he swallowed half the drink in one go. He decisively turned his attention back to the TV, pants tightening rapidly as his mind whirled. 

In between Die Hard 2 and Inception (“Fuck, Niall, why would you say ‘water’? Why couldn’t you just say ‘the one with the dreams’ or something, fucking hell.”), the boys were all given the opportunity to go to the bathroom and do whatever, so that they didn’t disturb the movie later on. It was courtesy, and all that. None of them took the opportunity, though – mainly because Harry was passed out on top of his boyfriend and Louis was too relaxed to move him, and Niall was only still awake because he thought it was his duty as host to be conscious if everyone else was. And then, of course, there was Zayn who was half-hard after watching how Liam eats red liquorice and knew he wouldn’t be able to pee straight if he tried, and Liam just apparently didn’t need to go. 

That was until twenty minutes into the movie. 

Zayn felt as Liam shifted and nudged Niall, squirming a little on the spot. “Hey, Niall,” he whispered.

“Wah?” Niall mumbled from where his face was buried in a pillow. His eyes would close periodically like blinks in slow motion, and he looked like he was drooling. Zayn put down his beer at the sight. 

“I need to, um,” Liam muttered, squirming more. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Niall curled further into the couch. “Down the hall.”

Liam shifted again, feet tapping on the floor. “Er.”

“Louis, take Liam to the bathroom,” Niall yawned. 

Louis poked his head out from under Harry’s unconscious body. “I’m a little incapacitated right now, Niall.”

Niall groaned. “Zayn, go do the thing.”

“It’s okay, I can hold it,” Liam said quickly. Zayn turned his attention back to the movie and started sucking the chocolate off some Malteesers. Joseph Gordon-Levitt had said exactly six words before Liam groaned. “No I can’t.”

Zayn pushed himself off the couch, heart thudding a little harder. “C’mon.” 

Liam followed him out of the dorm, shuffling impatiently. Zayn figured that Liam really needed to go and walked quickly to the communal bathroom, quickly punching in the code and pushing the door open for Liam. Liam quickly jumped in and all but sprinted for a toilet. Zayn thought it was a bit weird he was going there instead of the urinal if he needed to pee, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of him vomiting.

“Liam?” Zayn called, concerned. “You okay?”

He approached the stall Liam was in, but paused when Liam made a low, groaning noise. “Please don’t come in.”

“Are you okay?” Zayn repeated. 

“I think my kidney’s playing up,” Liam moaned. “I was drinking last night, and then having that beer just before…”

“Liam,” Zayn chastised lightly. He pushed open the door, needing to help somehow. He bent down and rubbed at Liam’s back, ignoring the stench. Liam was just whining pitifully, forehead resting against the toilet seat. He was shivering despite the fact that he was sweating. Zayn had no idea what to do.

“I need to sleep, I think,” Liam mumbled. He stood up slowly and flushed the toilet, wiping his mouth before he turned to face Zayn. His eyes were red and glassy. “Can you tell Niall I’ve gone home?”

Zayn frowned at him, unimpressed. “You’re not going home like this.”

“I kind of have to,” Liam said. “Niall’s only got a single bed and I don’t fancy sleeping on his couch when I already feel like shit.” 

“I have a queen size bed,” Zayn said slowly, waiting for Liam to catch up.

Liam immediately shook his head. “Not after last time, Zayn. I’m still mortified by that whole thing.”

“It’s fine, Liam,” Zayn assured him. He wondered why Liam was mortified, if it meant he thought kissing Zayn was embarrassing. “I’m not taking no for an answer here.”

Finally, Liam agreed, and let Zayn take him to his dorm and tuck him in to bed. Zayn grabbed the tub he kept his paint brushes in and dumped the contents on the floor before placing the tub next to the bed in case Liam got sick again. He put down a towel, too, just to be sure.

“You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Zayn asked him, hovering at the door.

Liam smiled tiredly at him. “I’m okay,” he whispered. Zayn turned the light off and went back to Niall’s, finishing off the movie night and giving Liam some space. Zayn returned around 2a.m. and found that Liam was gone. The towel was folded on top of one of the pillows and the paint brushes were back in the tub. Zayn wondered if Liam had rested at all, or if he hated being in Zayn’s dorm so much that he left the moment Zayn turned his back

*

A few days later he decided that he hated graphic novels. It’s was nearly nine p.m. and he’d barely sketched out the second frame of, like, twenty, he had no idea how he was going to structure the story, and his handwriting looked like shit in the little speech bubbles because he kept underestimating the space and had to cramp half of it in. His wrist was tense from being overworked and his stomach was growling from the lack of food he’d eater today. And just, in general, things were not going well for him.

Thankfully, the library was mostly empty and pretty quiet. He hadn’t trusted himself to stay on task at home, because he was finding nearly everything in his reach was a distraction. The only downside of the library was the people, which was why he didn’t come here until late afternoon when most people were just leaving to go get dinner. 

Zayn knew he only had twenty minutes or so before the pointy-nosed librarian would kick him out, and really wanted to at least finish this frame so that he could say he achieved more than a sketch of a torso and a few dodgy words. 

“Whatcha doing?” Liam asked from behind him.

Zayn nearly fell out of his chair, slamming his sketchbook close. “Christ, man, you need to wear a bell or something.”

Liam slid into the seat next to him, nodding down at the closed book. “Were you drawing a comic?”

“No,” Zayn said immediately, blushing profusely. 

“I like comics,” Liam told him conversationally, hand resting a few mere inches from the book. “Can I see?”

“It wasn’t a fucking comment,” Zayn said, pushing his pencils back into his bag so he could leave. He grabbed the book and legged it out of there. It may have been five days since Zayn last saw Liam, and he may have secretly been anticipating it, but he wasn’t prepared to be laughed at for a fucking art project. And you know what? He’s going to pick something else. He’s going to talk to Lonsdale about doing a modernised renaissance painting or some shit, and-

“Zayn,” Liam stopped him, hand on Zayn’s shoulder. He shrugged Liam off, turning to look at him with wide, embarrassed eyes. 

“What?”

“Sorry, you don’t have to show me,” Liam said, eyes wide an apologetic. “I just couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

Zayn wondered why Liam needed to find something to say. “Nah, I overreacted. I’m just stressed,” Zayn chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’re you up to?”

“I was just returning a book,” Liam said, shrugging. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Not yet,” Zayn told him. He wondered if Liam was asking him on a date. He wondered why he didn’t mind.

“Well, you probably should go buy something before the canteen closes,” Liam told him, smiling. “Food’s the best medicine for stress, you know.” 

“Right,” Zayn said, mouth dry. 

Liam gave him another smile, starting to walk off again. “See you around, Zayn.”

And then he was jogging off, pulling up his hood to combat the wind outside. Zayn watched him go, wondering why the hell he felt disappointed. 

*

Louis ate really weirdly, in Zayn’s opinion. He was like that girl in ‘The Breakfast Club’, randomly mixing bits of his dinner, shoving beer battered chips into his burger, switching between drinking from his glass of water and his banana milkshake. Even after nearly three years, Zayn still didn’t understand what goes through Louis’ head to make him eat like this.

“Do you mind?” Zayn asked him indignantly as Louis stole some of his sweet potato chips and mixed them into his side salad. 

“Nope,” Louis said, taking another loud sip of his milkshake. Thank God their booth was right in the corner of the diner where no one could see how disgusting this was. Louis looked up at him, amused. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

“Nothing,” Zayn scowled. Louis watched him doubtfully. “What?”

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten what you said about Liam,” Louis told him, wagging a finger at him. “And don’t think I didn’t pick up on how he stayed in your room when he got sick.”

“He didn’t say. He left while I was at Niall’s,” Zayn corrected him.

Louis beamed like he had won. “So that’s why you’re so stroppy, then?”

“I’m not stroppy,” Zayn snapped, sinking a little in his seat. He chewed on a chicken strip defiantly. “And it’s stupid, anyway.”

“Oh?” Louis asked. He had eyes like a shark, ready to sink his teeth into any ammunition Zayn gave him.

Usually Zayn would keep his mouth shut and save himself the humiliation, but for whatever reason he decided to tell Louis anyway. “Things have just been weird,” Zayn said. “Like I keep thinking that he’s going to ask me out, and he’s just been in my head a lot because we never talked it out, you know?”

Louis nodded, chewing as he thought. He looked at Zayn almost considering. “Do you want him to ask you out?” 

“No,” Zayn denied immediately. 

“You do!” Louis said excitedly, dropping his burger and clapping his hands. “You want Liam to wine and dine you, don’t you, you sly dog.”

“Keep your voice down,” Zayn hissed. “And I do not. Shut up.”

“When did this all begin, then?” Louis eyes, blue eyes electrified with excitement. “When he kissed you? Or before that, when he called you out on your shit?”

“You’re ridiculous and I hate you,” Zayn grumbled. 

Louis laughed loudly at that, loud enough that they had a few people look over at them. Zayn blushed under the scrutiny. He knew that Louis didn’t mean it, but Zayn still glared over at him when a guy approached them. He was tall with dark skin and a buzz cut, startlingly bright eyes and a good sense in fashion. Zayn tried to ignore him, but then he was right there at their booth, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” the guy said, smiling sheepishly. He really did have a lovely face, Zayn noticed. “Sorry to bother you, but like, I just wanted to come over here and say an awkward pick-up line.”

Zayn looked up, interested. While the man was upfront he was still refreshingly bashful, and it was sort of intriguing to Zayn, who was used to guys walking up to him with swagger and grinning like they already knew him. “Out with it, then,” he said with a smile.

“Erm, okay,” the guy said. His eyes darted nervously to Louis before moving back to Zayn with an embarrassed smile. “I’m studying IT, right, so – you turn my floppy disk into hardware.”

Zayn snorted into his drink. Louis full on dropped his drink, water dripping off the table and onto his pants while he absolutely cacked it. The guy looked relatively pleased by this result. 

“That was terrible,” Zayn told him, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“Just wanted to see you laugh,” the guy said, shrugging. “I’m Corbin, by the way.”

Before Zayn could say anything, Louis was waving a hand. “And he’s spoken for, so move along.”

Corbin stuttered out an apology, looking down as he quickly walked back to his table. “Louis,” Zayn hissed. “What the fuck?”

“I’m not going to let you ruin your chance with Liam before anything even begins,” Louis told him, dabbing at his pants with a napkin. “Figure out what you want with Liam, then consider going out with other guys.”

“I think I should be the one making that decision,” Zayn told him, glaring. He chanced a look over to Corbin and found the boy eating silently across from a couple who were making out obnoxiously. Zayn felt bad for him.

“You’re emotionally constipated,” Louis told him. “There’s no way I’m going to let you make that decision. Promise me you won’t date anyone unless you know for sure you don’t want anything with Liam.”

Zayn gave him a flat look. “Louis-“

“Promise me.”

Zayn’s sighed. “Fine. But if I find out that guy’s my future husband or some shit, you can’t be my best man at the wedding.” 

*

Corbin will not be his future husband, Zayn decided the next night. Zayn had waited until Louis had gone to the bathroom before scrawling his number on a napkin and dropping it on Corbin’s plate, quickly explaining that he wasn’t dating anyone, actually, and Louis was just being a little shit. Corbin had texted him almost immediately, and Zayn had spent the rest of the night and the next day learning information about the boy one text at a time.

And so they went out to the pub, sat in a corner booth and drank while Zayn inched closer and closer until he was practically on Corbin’s lap. And then Corbin had kissed up his neck and whispered that his apartment was just down the street.

They weren’t able to keep their hands off each other. At one point, Corbin pressed Zayn into the wall of some shop and kissed him so thoroughly that Zayn’s legs went weak and Corbin had to hold him by the ass to keep him up. Zayn fingers clawed under his shirt and wrapped around his neck, drunk both on cheap beer and Corbin’s tongue. 

This apartment was thankfully close, and mostly clean. Zayn almost immediately pushed Corbin onto the bed and climbed on top of him, rutting down and groaning into the man’s neck. Corbin’s hands snuck under Zayn’s shirt, ghosting over his ribs and making Zayn shiver. And then he started tickling Zayn. 

“What – are you – doing,” Zayn grasped out, squirming off of Corbin lap and trying to evade his hands when he fell on the bed next to him. 

Corbin kept going, giggling into Zayn’s neck and grinding his hard cock into Zayn’s hip. “Going to make you feel good.”

Zayn didn’t feel good. He didn’t feel good at all. “Cor – Corbin – stop-p.” 

Finally, Corbin removed his hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked, wide-eyed. 

“I’m not into that,” Zayn told him honestly. “Can we just, like, keep it simple?”

“Okay,” Corbin said, forcing a smile. But things continued to go downhill. Corbin’s dick had gone placid in embarrassment, and it didn’t harden at all, even when Zayn went down on him. Zayn had asked if he could top, then, but Corbin had flatly refused. Eventually Corbin had just given Zayn a hand job and then passed out next to him, clutching his pillow a little angrily. Zayn laid awake, wondering why the fuck someone so amazing had a tickling kink. 

He slid out of bed and pulled his clothes back on, and quietly left the room. He didn’t leave a note – he wasn’t looking for a second date, to be honest. So he just closed the door as softly as he could, wincing when it clicked loudly, and turned to walk down the hall. 

He walked straight into Liam.

“Zayn,” Liam said in surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

Zayn stared at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Liam said slowly, pointing to the door next to him. “I just got back from Niall’s. Where were you?”

“I don’t have to tell you that,” Zayn said, panicked. He needed to get out of here. He had been trying to get over his little crush for Liam, and somehow he had gone home with possibly the only person in the club who lived in the same building as him – no, lived across the hall from him. 

Liam nodded carefully. “That’s true.”

“I was on a date,” Zayn blurted, unable to help himself. He was possibly still drunk. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay,” Liam said. 

“It was sort of horrible in the end, though,” Zayn said, frowning. Where the fuck has his filter gone? “He had a weird kink.” 

“Good to know,” Liam said, smiling a little. “Are you drunk, Zayn?” 

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head. Liam laughed at him. “C’mon, Zayn.”

Liam unlocked his door and pushed it open, holding it open for him. Zayn didn’t even think twice before walking in. He tugged off his pants and climbed under the covers, barely taking inventory of the small room, tiny kitchenette separated by only a marble bench, and a modest dresser overflowing with clothes.

Liam watched him, looking amused. “Making yourself comfortable, there?”

Zayn shrugged into a pillow. “’m tired. Come join me.”

Liam tugged his own clothes off and turned off the lights, climbing onto the bed and under the covers. Zayn got tangled in his shirt when he tried to take it off, out of exhaustion or inebriation or something else. Liam laughed quietly and helped him remove it, throwing it somewhere on the floor. Zayn laid down flat on his back like Liam, trying to be casual. But it was so fucking cold in Liam’s apartment, and now without his clothes he could feel the chill biting at his exposed skin. Cautiously, he moved closer to Liam inch by inch to try and steal some of his body heat. Liam smiled gently and wrapped his arms around him, cuddling him close even as Zayn was shivering. 

It was silent for a while. And then: “Were you with the bald dude? Um, with Corbin?”

Zayn nodded into his chest, eyes closed.

“Why did you pick him?” Liam asked. He sounded genuinely curious. “Like what did you like about him enough to take home?”

Zayn shrugged. “He’s bald,” he mumbled, yawning. “You’re not bald. And Louis told me not to.”

Zayn knows he’s not making sense but he doesn’t think it matters, not when he’s drifting off to sleep moments later. 

*

Zayn hadn’t experienced a Morning After with Liam before. They hadn’t even had sex but everything felt intimate, from Liam cooking eggs for breakfast to nurse Zayn’s hangover, to the two of them eating in bed with their ankles tangled. 

They talked about things that didn’t matter. Zayn explained his concept for his art project, and how difficult it was to get just right. He quietly admitted that he actually would love to work for a company like Marvel and write comics and stuff, if he ended up being any good at it. Liam asked if he could read the comic once it’s done. (Zayn said yes, but it was an empty promise. He’d never shown his comics to anyone, not even Louis.)

Liam explained his course to him. It was incredibly complex and nothing like what Zayn imagined a Music and Production course would be like. Liam answered every question Zayn asked, an open book that was as endless as he was endearing. Liam laughs with crinkled eyes when Zayn admits that he was in a production, and got the leading role, no less. Liam begs to see the tape of it but Zayn tells him that even if he wanted to show it to him (he doesn’t) the tape is at his parents’ house in Bradford.

Liam also talks about his childhood. Zayn learns more about Liam’s kidney problems (“But, like, I sort of regrew one? I don’t know. But I had a check-up a few months ago and I’ve got two, even if one of them is still mostly useless.”) and how they resulted in his parents coddling him a bit too much and driving him to move so far away from home. Niall moved to Wolverhampton when they were nine, though, and quickly latched on to Liam and refused to let him shy away. Zayn also learnt a few new things about Niall, which he stored away for later use.

When breakfast was finished and Zayn was swallowing the last few dregs of his coffee, a pensive look developed on Liam’s face. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah,” Zayn said, placing his mug on the bedside table. “Of course.”

Liam leaned back against the bed frame, eyes on the cup still in his hands. “Why didn’t Louis want you to go out with that guy?”

Zayn scrunched up his nose, kicking himself for telling Liam that. “He, uh. He didn’t want me jumping into something like that.”

“Like what?” Liam asked, head tilted. 

“A lot of guys ask me out,” Zayn said, shrugging. “Louis’ watched me go on countless dates and come back disappointed, so I guess he didn’t want to see me get hurt.”

It was mostly the truth. Zayn wasn’t going to tell Liam it’s because of him.

“Oh,” Liam said. He looked up at Zayn questioningly. “Why do you go out with them, then?”

“If I know they all want the same thing?” Zayn asked. Liam nodded. “I don’t know. A bunch of reasons, I guess. I get lonely. I like it when people buy me things. Sometimes it’s fun. Take your pick.”

“So it’s never actually because you like the person?” Liam clarified. 

Again, Zayn shrugged. “I have to like something about them to some degree. They ask me out, and then I decide whether or not they’re worth my time.”

“That’s a bit shallow,” Liam said, frowning a little. “I mean, you never get to know someone properly before they ask you out?”

“I can kind of tell in an instant who they are,” Zayn said. “They might say ten words, and instantly I can tell if they’re rich and looking for some arm candy, or they’re cocky and want to brag to their friends, or they genuinely find me interesting and want to get to know me. I mostly only agree to dates that combine type numbers one and three, and avoid the cocky guys.”

Liam considered this. “What was your first impression of me?”

“Asshole,” Zayn said immediately, smiling. “And pretty presumptuous.” 

“But your opinion of me changed, right?” Liam asked.

“Of course,” Zayn said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Liam didn’t smile. “So your assumptions of those other guys could be wrong, too.”

Zayn frowned at that. “Generally not, no.”

“Then what about Corbin?” Liam asked. “Did you know at the start that things weren’t going to work out?”

“Well, no,” Zayn said. 

“So you were wrong,” Liam said with a set jaw. “And you were wrong about me and you turned down that cashier that was nice to you.”

“Liam,” Zayn said in a warning tone. 

“Aren’t you worried that you’re going to miss a good thing?” Liam implored. “You’re spending all this time mucking around and toying with people… how can you possibly be happy with where you are?”

Zayn’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “So you think I should date every guy that hits on me?” 

“No,” Liam said quickly. “That’s not what-“

“Are you hitting on me, Liam?” Zayn all but shouted. “Are you that bitter that I don’t want you that you think you have a right to attack me? To question my own, private choices?”

“Zayn-“

“Shut up,” Zayn snapped, storming out of the bed. “I’m not going to date you Liam, so fuck right off.” 

*

Zayn was fuming all the way home, but then deflated the moment he was in his room. He slid down the door until he was just lying there pathetically. He rubbed at his stinging eyes, wondering how he could be so stupid. Of course Liam wasn’t hitting on him, he was just genuinely concerned for Zayn. Louis had asked him the same questions years ago, as had Harry and Niall and even some of the flings he’d briefly dated. 

Just from Liam it was so much rawer. The questions had cut into Zayn deep, reopening wounds that he’d rather keep closed. He didn’t want to think about the beginning with Ant. He didn’t want to remember what had happened when he thought he was dating him for the right reasons. He didn’t want to contemplate whether Liam was right, if he was missing out on something good. 

*

He called Louis in a panic sometime after sunset, asking him what to do. Louis suggested getting Liam out of his system. Harry, in the background, suggested that Zayn should just let it be and give Liam some space until the dust settles. When Zayn hung up, frustrated, and called Niall, the Irishman firmly said that he wasn’t going to give any advice because he didn’t want to get involved, being so close to Liam and all. 

Zayn pulled a bottle of vodka out from under his bed, and sat by the window chain smoking and drinking and trying to figure out why the weight of the week had returned back to his shoulders

*

Zayn was just finishing up his fifth cigarette when he realised that he really wanted to get Liam out of his system like Louis suggested. But he didn’t want to get all of Liam out of him, no; he wanted to get rid of the anger and guilt and tension, but he wanted to keep the laughter and sweetness and peace pumping through his bloodstream. He wanted Liam for more than just a night. He wanted Liam, period. 

*

“Nope,” Niall said, trying to close the door. “No way.”

“But he’s not answering my calls,” Zayn whined, pushing to keep the door open. He jammed his foot in, making Niall huff. “I just want to talk to him.”

“I’m not getting involved, Zayn,” Niall grunted, trying to kick Zayn’s foot out. 

“Wouldn’t you rather us talk it out?” Zayn tried. “Clear the air and move on?”

Niall kicked harder at Zayn’s foot. “I’m not selfish enough to get involved just because it might make things awkward for me.”

“Please help me, Nialler,” Zayn pleaded. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Niall paused for a moment, staring hard at Zayn. “I love you, mate, but this is something you have to figure out by yourself.”

And with that, Niall was slamming the door. Surprised (but scowling at his sore foot), Zayn made walked back to his dorm. Niall’s door opened again.

“Oh, and Zayn?” he called. “If you hurt him again, I’ll fucking pee on you.”

Zayn wondered when he became the bad guy.

*

While Zayn had learnt a lot about Liam by this point, there was still so much he didn’t know – his favourite chocolate, preferred genre of movie, whether or not he prefers flowers or small gifts or being taken to dinner. Zayn had gotten to know Liam the same way any two strangers met: they told each other the things that would be on their résumé, their ambitions, the things you need to know to keep up a conversation. Zayn forgot to learn Liam like a friend instead.

One thing he did know about Liam, though, is that he likes chocolate Frappuccinos with extra whipped cream. 

It started the following Monday morning. Zayn got up ridiculously early, bought a chocolate Frappuccino from the café they’d gone to the second time, and then made his way to Liam’s apartment and placed the drink on his grubby welcome mat. Then he ran away before he got the urge to knock on the door.

He did this three days in a row, until finally his phone buzzed.

DJ FRAPPACCINO: Stop buying me drinks

ZAYN: Can I buy you dinner instead?

DJ FRAPPACCINO: No

Zayn frowned down at his phone. Okay, he thought. He just needs to step up his game a little. 

*

“You’ve picked the wrong guy for the job,” Louis grumbled from where he was pouting on the couch. “Harry is literally the most uncoordinated person I’ve ever met.”

“I think he can handle this,” Zayn told him, distractedly. He was busy painting Harry, strokes of black and white paint covering pieces of his body. “Literally all he has to do is stand there and sing.”

“Have you ever seen Harry stand for more than five seconds without tripping, though?” 

“Hey,” Harry protested. “Don’t be rude, Lou.”

“Sorry babe,” Louis said, non-committal. Zayn shook his head at Louis’s grumbling, amused. He didn’t realise Louis would want to dress up as Justin Bieber so badly.

“Think I’m done,” Zayn said, standing back so he could compare Harry with his picture. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll do.”

Louis dawdled over to look, too. “Do you think he’ll get the reference?”

“I know he has the album on his computer,” Zayn answered, shrugging. “So hopefully.”

They had to wait for the paint to dry before they could leave, as Harry had insisted on wearing a ridiculous amount of coats outside now that it was starting to snow. Louis had seconded this, because Harry gets sick easily and Louis didn’t fancy going a week without sex. So they waited until the paint was so dry that he cracked a little when Harry moved too much, then bundled the tall boy up in coats and scarves until the boy was comfortable to leave. 

They arrived at Liam’s apartment building twenty minutes later, having had stopped several times to air out Harry’s torso because he was starting to sweat under the coats. Naturally, Harry tripped up the stairs three times while they climbed to the fourth floor, making Zayn wince and Louis give him a ‘told you so’ look. 

“Okay, he’s the fifth door on the left,” Zayn told Harry in a whisper. “Just knock, sing your bit, and then leave. Louis and I will be around the corner here, okay?”

“Aye aye, captain!” Harry said, saluting. He peeled off his coats and scarves, shivering in the cold. Zayn admired his work: a lopsided, up-side-down crucifix with a second thin stalk attached like a V and two white splotches dotting the stalks in white paint; cheap foundation completely covering Harry’s tattoos; and messy replicas of Justin Bieber’s tattoos in thin, black paint. They even managed to find some watches and bracelets that looked similar to the photo, which made little twinkling noises when they rubbed together. They’d attempted to style Harry’s hair but were unable to do little more than gel it out of his face. All in all, Harry more or less resembled Bieber’s ‘Purpose’ album cover. 

“Go on, then,” Louis said, still grumbling at not being chosen for the role. (In Zayn’s defence, Harry had a longer torso and was a lot less whiny.) “Go win Zayn his man.”

Zayn watched as Harry waltzed down to Liam’s door, only turning for a nod of confirmation from Zayn before he knocked. The door was open soon after, and Harry immediately struck a ridiculous pose. 

“Is it too late now to say sorry?” Harry sung, perfectly nailing Bieber’s signature pout. “’Cause I’m missing more than just your- oh.”

Zayn watched, shocked, as a girl emerged from Liam’s room, looking sheepish but smiling politely at Harry. Liam’s head peeked out from the doorway after, looking down the hall. Zayn and Louis quickly ducked around the corner, realising belatedly that Harry’s clothes were still in the middle of the hallway. The girl rushed past them, so quickly that Zayn was only able to catch messy red and smudged makeup. She was doing the walk of shame. 

“Shit,” Louis said when he realised. He looked at Zayn sympathetically. “This must be hard.”

“It’s okay,” Zayn said after a moment. He nodded firmly to himself. “It’s okay. Liam is entitled to sleeping with whoever he wants.”

Louis eyed him carefully. “You sure?” 

“Mmhmm,” Zayn said, because he was. He looked back around the corner, and saw Harry had resumed singing. The look on Liam’s face was priceless. When Harry finished singing, he did a little bow and then all but sprinted around the corner. Louis quickly ducked out to grab his clothes, and then the three of them were sprinting down the stairs and hiding in the lobby while Harry got dressed again. 

“Did I do okay?” Harry asked him while Louis forced him into an absurdly thick sweater.

Zayn grinned. “You were perfect, Hazza.” 

*

DJ FRAPPACCINO: purpose album, right???

ZAYN: correct!!

ZAYN: go out to dinner with me?

DJ FRAPPACCINO: no.

*

“We need to get Niall involved somehow,” Zayn sighed, lying down on the floor because he was feeling quite pathetic. And Harry and Louis had taken over his bed. 

“Maybe we can ask him for ideas on the sly?” Louis suggested. “Like, we could pretend to just be curious about what Liam’s all about. Ask if he prefers chocolates of sweets, that sort of thing.”

“Nah, I think we should respect the fact that he wants to stay out of it,” Harry said. “It wouldn’t feel right to trick him into it.” 

“You two contradict each other on everything, you know that?” Zayn told them, rolling his eyes. 

“Keeps the sex interesting,” Louis said absentmindedly. Zayn sat up and found that Harry’s head was in Louis’ lap while Louis carded his hands through his boyfriend’s hair. They looked peaceful, smiling softly at each other. It used to almost disgust Zayn, but now his heart aches with longing, wanting to have someone he was that comfortable with. 

“You know what,” Zayn said, standing up. “I’m gonna resort to begging. Hopefully Niall will help a poor man out.”

The other two probably didn’t even notice he left when he closed the door behind him. He made his way to Niall’s room, hearing some explicit music in the background. He knocked on the door, hands in his pockets and heart in his throat.

Niall answered, looking antsy. “Hey, Zayn.”

“Niall,” Zayn began, looking at the blonde seriously. “I know you want to stay out of it, but I need your help.”

“I already told you no, Zayn,” Niall said with a frown. 

“I know,” Zayn said. There was a pleading edge to his voice now. “But I don’t know what to do. I fucked up, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Niall asked, reaching out to place a hand on Zayn’s shoulder, eyes sad but stern. 

“He wouldn’t answer my calls,” Zayn said, sniffing a little. “I’m going nuts here, man. I mean, I barely even know Liam, but I just know that if I let him walk away I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. And I know that’s beyond fucking dramatic, and I know that I don’t deserve him after how much of an asshole I’ve been, but I miss him. And I’m going to keep missing him for a while, because it honest to God feels like something important has been taken away from me. So please, Niall, just give me a sucking clue to what he wants me to do.”

Niall grinned, then. “I just needed you to talk,” he said. And then he was pulling the door open a bit wider, revealing a shocked-looking Liam standing in his living room.

And, fuck, Liam got a buzz cut. It suited him so well, highlighting his chiselled cheek bones and the wide set of his eyes. Zayn’s entire body ached just looking at him.

“Hi,” Zayn said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Liam echoed, still looking stunned. 

Zayn bit his lip. “Did you hear all of that?”

Liam took a few steps forward, then paused. “Did you mean it?”

Zayn nodded. “I did,” he said, heart shoved somewhere in his oesophagus. “I do.”

Liam rushed forward, not giving Zayn a chance to say anything else before their lips were crashing together, soft and sweet and everything Zayn had been craving since that morning after his birthday party. Liam’s hands cupped Zayn’s face gently while Zayn pulled him in by the waist, shuddering as warmth spread through his veins.

Niall coughed awkwardly next to them. “Not to be a bummer, or anything, but this is my apartment, and I’d rather not see my two best mates suck face.”

“Your place?” Liam asked, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Yeah,” Zayn choked out, grinning. He led Liam out by the hand, tugging him back to his own room. He threw open the door, not surprised to see his best friends jumping away from each other guiltily. “You two, go home.”

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Louis told him, wagging a finger between Zayn and Liam. “We helped, you know.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, but he was beaming. “I dressed up as Justin Bieber. I was in the shower for twenty minutes before all the paint washed off.”

Zayn tapped his foot impatiently. “Thank you, and I love you both, but I really need you to leave, like, two minutes ago.” 

“Fine, fine,” Louis said, pulling on his jacket and wrapping an arm around his boyfriend. “C’mon, Hazza, let’s give these kids some alone time.”

When they finally left, Liam crowded Zayn against the door and kissed him again, a little hungrier and confident. Zayn kissed back eagerly, hands running up Liam’s taut chest.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn managed to get out after a minute. “I’m a dramatic little shit who doesn’t know when to shut up. And I’m apparently emotionally constipated. Sorry about that.” 

“Stop apologising,” Liam groaned, mouthing at his jaw. Zayn keened a little, pulling Liam tighter against him. Liam ground his hips forward, panting into Zayn’s mouth when their cocks rubbed through too many layers of material. 

Zayn pushed his hips forward while he kissed across Liam’s jaw, sucking a mark into a patch of skin under Liam’s ear that had the boy cursing. Zayn was enthralled, having never heard Liam swear before. 

Liam tugged at Zayn’s shirt to try and pull it off, but Zayn shook his head. “We should do this properly. Like, I should take you on a date first.”

“Fuck that,” Liam said, pulling Zayn to him by his waistband and guiding walking backwards to the bed. “I’d rather stay in here for the night.”

Zayn beamed, stumbling along until Liam was falling back onto the bed and dragging Zayn down with him. Zayn didn’t waste time before he was crawling on top of him, fingers running over Liam’s stubble while he kissed him with all he’s got. Liam circled his hips beneath him, rubbing the outline of his cock firmly against Zayn’s ass so Zayn could fee how long and hard it was.

“I’ll be bottoming, then,” Zayn said, mouth already watering by how big it felt. 

Liam grinned and flipped them, pressing Zayn into the mattress. “Sounds good,” Liam said, kissing down his neck. He pulled Zayn’s shirt off with a little difficulty, and then proceeded to stare in awe at Zayn’s exposed skin, hands ghosting across tattoos. 

“So beautiful,” Liam said almost absentmindedly. He ducked down to suck the centre of Zayn’s sternum, right where there was a tattoo of lips flanked by wings. “I want to get a tattoo, you know,” Liam said against Zayn’s skin.

“Yeah?” Zayn asked shakily as Liam’s teeth grazed over one of his nipples. 

“Yeah,” Liam said, trailing lower. He got to the waist of Zayn’s pants and bit along the v of his hips, grinning into his skin when Zayn grasped and shuddered. “Can I tickle you?”

“What?” Zayn said, shooting upright.

“Joking,” Liam laughed, pushing Zayn back down on the bed. “Not the time?”

“Definitely not,” Zayn said, relaxing again when Liam undid his zipper. Liam pulled off Zayn’s jeans quickly, aided by Zayn’s hurried kicking, and ducked down to mouth at his inner thigh, right where Zayn’s briefs came to an end. “Liam,” Zayn whispered, hands trying to find purchase in Liam’s short hair but instead just sliding across his head without traction. “Liam, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Liam laughed, crinkled eyed, and pulled off his shirt in a way that had Zayn’s throat running dry. His pants followed soon after, and then his boxers. Zayn actually cursed at the sight.

“Shi, Liam,” he groaned, eyeing the boy’s cock in astonishment. “You could kill someone with that thing.”

“What, by slapping someone with it?” Liam asked, giggling as he crawled back up Zayn’s body. 

Zayn shook his head, stunned. “By impaling them.”

Liam laughed loudly at that, nipping at Zayn’s neck teasingly. Zayn craned at the touch, angling his neck so that Liam would have better access. The boy pressed open-mouth kisses to the expanse of skin available to him, smirking at the shudders that ran through Zayn’s body. (Zayn couldn’t help how sensitive he was, but Liam seemed to enjoy it.)

“Lube?” Liam asked, stilling pressing kisses into Zayn’s skin. Zayn wordlessly dug a hand into the gap between his mattress and the bedframe, pulling out the bottle without a sound because he didn’t trust his voice.

Liam got right to work, taking off Zayn’s briefs and spreading his legs apart. He gently placed a pillow under Zayn’s ass, but was quick when he poured lube on his fingers and nudged one against Zayn’s hole.

“Next time, we’re going to take our time and do this properly,” Liam said, eyes not leaving Zayn’s. “But I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the day I met you, and I really can’t control myself right now.”

“Then don’t,” Zayn smirked, pulling Liam closer in by his feet.

At first, Liam was slow with fingering Zayn open, careful and worried and asking Zayn if he was okay. But then Zayn was pushing down on his fingers, assuring him that he’s done this a bunch of times before, that he enjoys the burn of it. Liam was almost primal after that, opening Zayn up quickly while he mouthed wetly at Zayn’s fat cock. Zayn would have told him to stop at two fingers, but then he caught another look at Liam’s enormous dick and figured the extra prep would be needed. 

It didn’t prepare him. Not even slightly.

Liam’s dick was long and thick, and felt like it was ripping Zayn in two as it inched forward. Zayn arched his back as pain exploded at the base of his spine, but he kept his legs steady around Liam’s back and pulled him so that the boy wouldn’t pull back. Once Liam was bottomed out (after a ridiculously long time, because there was just that much dick to get in), he gave Zayn some time, kissing him gently and pumping his cock loosely to they and get it back to full hardness. 

When he was, he loosened his legs around his waist a little. “Please, Liam, move.”

And Liam did. He opened with an almost brutal pace, short little thrusts pounding into Zayn and making him keen. His dick nudged just against his prostate, rubbing just right so that the pleasure and pain Zayn felt intermingled, causing his back to arch away from the bed. Liam boxed him in, arms on either side of his head, kissing sloppily at his neck while Zayn could do little more than just take it. Every thrust was like a spark through Zayn’s body, looking to catch. 

“Faster, babe,” Zayn panted, clawing at Liam’s back. Liam gave him one last chase kiss before pulling back, spreading Zayn’s legs wider and hooking one over him shoulder. The new angle had him hitting Zayn’s prostate dead on, over and over, causing Zayn’s brain to turn to mush. “Liam, Liam, fuck, Liam-“

“Right here, baby,” Liam told him, grunting as his hips snapped forward in a blurring speed. Zayn couldn’t help but watch how the muscles in Liam’s stomach contracted over and over as Liam pounded into him, how sweat glistened over Liam’s golden skin, how Liam was so utterly focussed on making this good, making them both feel good, that his lips were parted in the type of heated concentration that was enough to have a spark catch into a flame inside of Zayn.

“So good,” Zayn moaned, head falling back on the pillow. His hands ran over the bed sheet, trying to gain purchase. He fisted the sheets tightly, low keens being dragged out of him by the way Liam’s hips rolled slightly on every other stroke. “Feel so full, Liam. Your fat dick’s so-“

“I’m not going to last much longer if you keep talking like that,” Liam grunted. His movements were becoming sloppier, but he looked determined to keep up the pace. 

“I’m okay with that,” Zayn told him. He clenched around Liam, causing his hips to stutter and a breathy moan to escape his lips. His head dropped as he chased his orgasm, hands tightening on the bits of Zayn’s body he was holding. Zayn rolled his hips to match Liam’s thrusts as best as he could, chanting Liam’s name over and over to make the boy groan and thrusts a little deeper. Right when he thought Liam was about to cum the man grabbed his dick with a strong, calloused hand, stroking him once, twice, three times, until that flame in Zayn had become an explosion, and he was crying out Liam’s name as he spilt over his hand. He felt Liam release inside him, too, thrusts erratic as he fucked Zayn through his orgasm. 

Zayn’s body relaxed into the mattress, his leg dropping from Liam’s shoulder. Both of them winced when Liam pulled out, but it was worth it. Zayn laid there, completely blessed and happier than he’s felt in ages. Liam collapsed next to him with a little thud, making them both giggle through their exhaustion.

“I’ve missed you, you know,” Liam told him, body angled towards Zayn. “Like, when I hear a song you’ve mentioned or see ’50 Shades’ in a bookshop or something, I really wanted to tell you about it.”

“I’m sorry I ruined things,” Zayn said, turning so he was properly facing Liam. They were mere inches apart, hands brushing together in the middle. 

“You didn’t ruin it,” Liam said, eyes crinkling. “This is perfect.”

*

Zayn had never been on a more comfortable date. He and Liam bought dollar-per-slice pizza from a corner store that looked shady on the outside but was clean and smelt amazing when they entered. (Liam ordered a chicken pizza that came with sticky sauce that kept getting caught on his chin or in the corner of his mouth, and he giggled when Zayn surged forward to lick it off.) From there they took a walk around campus and played in the snow for a bit, huddling close because it was so cold. Zayn figured they looked like a couple from any of those cliché movies, but he didn’t care. They went back to Liam’s that night, where Niall wasn’t able to slap the walls and make lewd comments, and they finished a perfect evening with a perfect night. Zayn didn’t sneak out the next morning. He stayed a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so just to clear up: I'm not trying to justify slut-shaming through Liam. I'm not trying to say that he is a flawless character that is justified in his actions and beliefs. The reason why Zayn was the one to apologise was because of how he reacted to literally everything Liam did; if Liam liked him, Zayn got annoyed. If Liam didn't like him, Zayn got annoyed. If Liam asked him on a date, Zayn bristled. If he didn't, Zayn became incredulous. Etcetera etcetera. This was the first fic I ever wrote, and if you follow my tumblr then you know that I'm not particularly happy with this fic at all. 
> 
> So long story short: I know that the morals in this story are ambiguous, and I'm not trying to condone slut-shaming.


End file.
